


a new life

by juliabaccari



Category: Natasha Pierre and the Great Comet of 1812 - Malloy
Genre: F/F, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-02
Updated: 2017-10-25
Packaged: 2019-01-08 05:42:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 44,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12248130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/juliabaccari/pseuds/juliabaccari
Summary: A Great Comet modern au where in most of them work for a ballet company in New York City, Marya and Helene are roommates who can't admit how they feel about each other, and everything is chaos.And Andrey isn't here.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi all, Sonja here. Yes, Sonja with a j not a y. This is my first multi-chapter fic in awhile, so bear with me, but I've got a plan for these guys and I'm excited about it. Hope you enjoy. <3

“Seriously, Hélène? In _my_ apartment?”

“I pay for half of this place too, as you well know.” 

Marya sighs as if heavily put upon, and snatches the joint from Hélène’s hand, ignoring her little protesting pout. But instead of tossing it, Marya throws herself down on the couch next to Hélène and takes a drag, causing the other woman to let out a rich peal of laughter.

“Ah, so that’s how it is?”

“Well, the apartment already reeks of it. What’s the harm?”

“Ooh, and would you encourage your students to submit to such depravity just because their roommates were already doing it?”

Marya rolls her eyes but passes the joint back when Hélène gestures for it. As Marya settles into the couch, Hélène’s legs find their way to her lap, the other woman’s body almost sinfully languid. 

“You look tense, ma cher.”

“Don’t call me that. You don’t even pronounce it right.” Marya snipes, but it’s a half-hearted gripe. She’s gotten used to Hélène’s french, lazy and careless and somehow still confident. As a ballet teacher, Hélène’s treatment of the language should offend her soul. But somehow, her roommate has managed to make this foible just another part of her charm.

“Bad day at work? I have vodka, if this won’t do it for you.”

Marya’s fingers brush Hélène’s as she takes the offered joint back. The evening has an air of familiar danger, and the risk of becoming one of those nights they don’t talk about. It’s exactly what Marya’s looking for; she’s been thinking about it all day. That’s not allowed. _It’s_ not allowed. But she nods anyway.

“I think we could use both.”

Marya watches Hélène as she gets up and goes to the kitchen, eyes trailing the line of her short skirt. It’s absolutely foolish of her. But fuck, she had a shit day, and she’s tired, and she’s going to keep making this mistake.

At least it’s a mutually agreed upon mistake. They have a bad day, or they have a fight: they get drunk, they work out their frustrated feelings on one another, and then they forget about it. 

Hélène returns with two glasses and a full bottle, no chasers. They’re both second-generation Russian, they’re made of tougher stuff. And well, Marya privately thinks they both like the burn. They like it to hurt a little, almost as if they’re punishing themselves for their sins.

“So what happened?” Hélène asks, passing Marya a full glass. She’s relaxed from smoking, but there’s still that characteristic smirk to the edge of her lips. 

“Natasha - she had a bad audition for the company’s main production this season. She was very upset. She ended up blaming Sonya, and so then Sonya was upset and, of course, with Andrey away Natalya is even more prone to unreasonable behavior -” Marya waved her hand dismissively, brushing away the negative thoughts. She hates it when her goddaughters fight, or are upset, but there is very rarely anything she can do when Natasha gets in one of her deeper anguished moods.

“Mm, that’s always hard, when you’re young.” Hélène has been acting since she was a young teenager, and rejection never seems to faze her - although she works enough that she’s never without a job for very long. Still, Marya knows it was a long process for her to get to somewhere where she can be comfortably considered a working actress. “Perhaps it wasn’t as bad as she thought.”

“Ah, I tried to tell her, but -”

“Natasha is stubborn.”

“Yes.” Marya takes a long gulp from her glass, shivering slightly as it makes its way down her throat. She sees Hélène eye her appreciatively and ignores it; she’s not allowed to point it out, not yet.

Hélène snubs out the dregs of the joint before taking to her own glass with enthusiasm. Marya arches a brow.

“And how was _your_ day, Hélène?”

She rolls her eyes. “Anatole was being his usual troublesome self, but nothing I can’t handle. Well, I passed him off to Dolokhov, anyway.” She laughs, settling back down on the couch, leaning against the arm in order to face Marya.

“A wise choice.” Marya remarks dryly. This makes Hélène laugh again, low in her throat.

“Oh, I know.” Hélène drains her glass and sets it aside. Normally Marya loathes how messy Hélène can be, leaving her dishes - and clothes - everywhere. But she’s all for expediency tonight. Something in her blood needs this distraction, and soon. It’s more than Natasha’s upset, and Sonya and Natasha’s fight. Marya just feels - restless, and sort of - old and frustrated. Hélène may be a source of eternal drama and annoyance, but she does have a way of making Marya feel years younger and free.

Hélène lets Marya take one more sip before she takes the glass out of Marya’s hand and sets it down next to her own. This isn’t quite their usual way of things, but Hélène must sense the urgency brimming under Marya’s skin. She’s good at reading people. Still, they’re supposed to be drunk when they do this - they’re supposed to be able to blame this on something other than their desperate and growing attraction to one another, and that sickly sweet nameless emotion they don’t acknowledge.

Still, Marya doesn’t protest as Hélène leans in to kiss her, just reaches her hands into Hélène’s hair and tugs, pulling the other woman down on top of her on the couch. It feels good, to forget her day and wrap herself in these mindless, physical comforts. Even if somewhere in the back of her mind knows that this isn’t quite just physical, and it will lead to trouble. Making out with your roommate is one thing, and Hélène Kuragina - well, that’s another thing entirely. But they walk this tenuous threshold for now, and they do it well.

In the morning, Marya wakes up in her own bed, as she always does. They never take it too far - to a place they wouldn’t be able to go back from. It doesn’t stop Marya from imaging it sometimes. Hélène isn’t shy, she walks around in bralettes and silky sleep shorts that cling to her curves and Marya isn’t blind, but - it’s not worth the stress it would cause them. It’s not. Marya has to remember that.

They greet each other in the kitchen as if it’s a typical morning. Marya makes enough of her morning protein smoothie to share, and she deliberately doesn’t look at Hélène’s smile as the other woman accepts the glass. A shock seems to pass through their fingers when they touch on the glass.

One day, they will have to face the consequences of the game they are playing. Marya just hopes they can make this sweet stasis last for awhile. She’s not ready to let go yet, but she’s also not ready to admit there’s more to her heart than there appears to be.

When she leaves for the studio, Hélène winks at her playfully and Marya rolls her eyes to stop herself from doing what she really wants to do - pressing a soft kiss to her roommate’s cheek. She gets on the train feeling even more restless than the day before: her drug of choice isn’t working to relieve the tension, but she’s as addicted to it as ever. Maybe that’s the problem. When all of this started, Hélène wasn’t something she needed, but now…

When she arrives at the theatre, Natasha and Sonya are already there. They are sitting together in the corner stretching, giggling, clearly having made up. Marya feels some relief, but she’s still distracted. Natasha springs up when she spots Marya come through the studio door, and runs over to her.

“I’m so sorry!” She says all in a rush, throwing her arms around Marya’s middle. “I was so mean to you yesterday, and Sonya too, and it made me feel just horrible when I realized. Forgive me?” She looks up at Marya, who looks back with exasperated fondness and gently touches her cheek.

“Of course, Natalya.”

Natasha’s nose wrinkles, as it always does when Marya calls her by her full name, but she’s grinning. “Thank you, Marya.” She pauses suddenly, cheeks flushing in that gentle, sweetly embarrassed way she sometimes has about her. “Um. Marya? Should Sonya get her makeup bag?”

“Why -” Marya breaks off suddenly and clasps a hand to her own neck, internally cursing Hélène. Of course. That woman can’t help but leave her marks on everything she touches, despite how many times Marya has insisted she not leave anything a leotard and tights can’t cover. “It’s nothing.”

“What’s nothing?” Sonya asks, coming up to them. Her eyes immediately track to Marya’s collarbone. “Oh. Should I get my makeup?”

“Honestly -” Marya regrets the rush she was in this morning; she should have checked her skin in the mirror.

“It’s alright, we can cover those before anyone else arrives.” Sonya says practically, calmly. She’s probably used to this sort of thing with Natasha and Andrey, but Marya - Marya is their godmother, their teacher. This is ridiculous. 

“Well, alright then.” Marya sighs in defeat and Sonya scurries off to retrieve her makeup. Luckily, she and Marya are close enough in shade that this could work. Meanwhile, Natasha eyes her curiously, still blushing.

“But Marya, who -?”

“I’m not having that conversation, Natasha.” Marya cuts her off firmly.

“But I tell you all about Andrey!”

“You tell everyone about Andrey.” Sonya says as she returns, then ducks her head when Natasha turns to glare at her. “Come on, Natasha, it’s not our business if Marya doesn’t want to tell us.”

Suddenly, Sonya is edging into the lead as Marya’s favorite.

 

Natasha flashes a significant pout, but doesn’t say anything as they set about helping Marya cover the marks. It’s one of the more intensely embarrassing moments of Marya’s life - her goddaughters, her former students turned company dancers, helping her mask evidence of a night straight out of a teenager’s escapades.

But it’s better than the entire corps de ballet seeing her neck in such a state.

When Sonya and Natasha finish their work and walk away to return to their warm ups, Marya pulls out her phone to text Hélène. She writes her under Hélène’s birth name, unknown to many but her closest friends and family. It’s not as discreet as she should be, but Marya’s at least relatively certain Sonya and Natasha don’t know it.

 **Marya:** Remember when I told you, very distinctly, no marks?

 **Elena:** remember how you weren’t complaining last night? ;)

 **Elena:** not your usual style to text about this.

 **Marya:** Sonya and Natasha discovered it this morning. My entire morning class could have seen! 

**Elena:** sorry, sweetheart. ;)

 **Marya:** You’re not sorry.

 **Elena:** no, I’m not. have a great morning class! I’m jealous of everyone who gets to see you in that leotard...

Marya, against her every will and her very nature, blushes furiously. She clicks her phone off and tosses it into her bag. They can’t be - flirting. Not like this, not ever. It crosses a line she thought they both would never cross.

She takes a deep breath and reaches up to adjust her bun, smoothing it into perfection, pulling herself together by pulling together her appearance. As long as a dancer looks perfect - no one can ever know what’s going on inside. Perfect composure, perfect lines, perfect smile.

Marya’s been a dancer for a long time. She’s certain her students suspect nothing during the class, but it doesn’t feel the same. She’s distracted the whole time. It feels like a landslide is about to happen, somehow - not just with her and Hélène, but with everything. This may just be the start.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha just wants to know who Marya is hooking up with, but unfortunately for her, she's not the one who finds out. Also, no one is good at feelings.

“So, who do you think it was?” Natasha asks, positively exuberant with curiosity and glee, leaning forward towards Sonya over her latte. “Do you think it was someone we know?”

“I don’t know, Natasha, we probably shouldn’t speculate.” Sonya says, tone practical and cautious. She can’t afford to give into gossip and drama. Her position at the ballet isn’t as solid as Natasha’s, as she is so often reminded by Marya herself.

“What’s the harm? Come on, you know you want to know! Marya hasn’t been with anyone, ever, at least not that we’ve noticed before.” 

“That’s because she’s private. We should respect that.”

“Awh, come on. You’re always sucking up to her…”

“Natasha, that’s rude.”

“Sorry! Sonya, really. It’s okay! She’ll never know we were talking about her. And maybe she’s finally found someone really important. Someone she loves!”

“Natasha, you’re getting ahead of yourself! Not everything is true love, you know -”

Natasha waved a hand impatiently, dismissing Sonya’s practicality. “No, no, Sonya, that’s too awful a thought. I want everyone to find the love they deserve, just like me and Andrey. It would be so nice for Marya to have someone, too, how sweet it would be! I bet she would smile very much more often.”

Sonya smiled fondly and shook her head. “Alright, Natasha.” 

“So?”

“So -?”

“Who is it, Marya’s new love?”

Sonya laughed, and stood up, latte in hand. “I have to go - I have a shift at the flower shop this afternoon.”

“But, Sonyushka -”

“If you want to know so badly, you should ask Marya.” Sonya advised, gently patting Natasha’s hand. “I’ll see you this evening at dinner?”

“I couldn’t possibly ask her!” Natasha protested, shaking her. “No, no. She’d never tell me. Perhaps Pierre would know? Anyway, yes, of course I’ll be at dinner.”

Sonya smiled gently and nodded before making her exit, knowing it was no use trying to dissuade Natasha from her task - she only hoped it would be a little light poking about, nothing more. She looked back as she left the coffee shop, watching Natasha excitedly pull out her phone.

\--

**Natasha:** Pierre! Pierre, you must tell me something. Who is Marya dating?

**Pierre:** I wasn’t expecting to hear from you today, Natalya. I hope you’re doing well. 

**Natasha:** Dear Pierre. Are you coming to dinner tonight? But it’s important! Who is Marya’s new boyfriend?

**Pierre:** I will come.

**Pierre:** I wasn’t aware she was seeing anyone.

**Pierre:** But if she is, it is certainly not a man.

**Natasha:** OMG, WHAT???

**Pierre:** Oh dear. I thought everyone knew? Oh no. Marya will kill me...or Hélène might kill me.

**Natasha:** MARYA LIKES WOMEN?

**Pierre:** Natasha, please don’t make a big deal out of this. Marya is very private about her personal life. 

**Natasha:** WHY DIDN’T SHE TELL ME

**Pierre:** I don’t know, Natasha.

**Natasha:** ...Why would Hélène kill you?

**Pierre:** She’s a protective friend. I know she doesn’t seem that way, but once you know her better...anyway, it wasn’t good of me to spill Marya’s secrets.

**Natasha:** It’s not like I mind! Hélène dates women too, doesn’t she? Is that why Marya’s told her?

**Natasha:** Wait.

**Pierre:** ?

**Natasha:** Marya and Hélène both like women???

**Pierre:** Oh! Oh, goodness, Natasha - no. That’s not possible. They barely even get along.

**Natasha:** They live together!

**Pierre:** Yes, it’s a tenuous arrangement and no one’s sure how it continues to work. We’re all anticipating the apocalypse any day now. But they’re certainly not dating. If they were, I’m sure Hélène would waste no time letting everyone know. You know how she loves to flaunt these things...

**Natasha:** Oh, I suppose you’re right. I only hoped because I would love to see more of my friends happy in such a way! Don’t you think it would be nice, Pierre?

**Pierre:** It’s a very lovely thought.

**Natasha:** I think it’s possible. And anyway, Marya’s with someone, Pierre. Sonya and I had to cover up tons of hickeys this morning for her…

**Pierre:** I don’t think she’d want you telling me this.

**Natasha:** There’s no harm! You’re her friend. And we have to find out who she’s with.

**Pierre:** But why, if she hasn’t told us herself?

**Natasha:** So we can support them and celebrate it, of course!

**Pierre:** It’s sweet, Natalya, but I don’t know anything.

**Natasha:** Will you ask Hélène for me???

**Pierre:** I don’t think I should.

**Natasha:** Fine then, I’ll visit her! I’ll just go to Marya’s early, before she gets home.

**Pierre:** Oh, Natasha, I don’t think that’s a good idea.

**Natasha:** I’ll let you know what I find out!!! See you tonight Pierre!!

**Pierre:** Ah. Tonight, then.

Natasha beams at her phone before tucking it away, practically flying out of the coffee shop. She has a spare key to Marya’s apartment, for emergencies and because she’s so often over having Sunday dinners, so even if Hélène isn’t home she’ll have a place to wait. But she hopes Hélène is there. She and her godmother’s roommate haven’t really spent much time together, apart from Hélène’s appearances at dinner or brief conversations around the apartment. But if Hélène knows about Marya’s sexuality, maybe she knows more about her romantic life, and maybe she would share with Natasha. 

Natasha knocks on the door when she arrives, and is pleased to find it swings open under her hand. Hélène stands there in silk shorts and a thin dressing gown, silk patterned with roses. Natasha blushes, but Hélène seems entirely unselfconscious. 

“Oh, hello, darling.” She greets, practically purring. “Don’t you look sweet in your little ballet bun? Dinner isn’t for another few hours, you know.”

“I know.” Natasha says, gathering her resolve. “I came to see you.”

“You did? What a delight!” Hélène exclaims, and steps back so Natasha can enter the apartment. “And to what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?”

“I want to talk to you about Marya.”

Hélène pauses on her way to the kitchen, turning back to Natasha with a strange look upon her face. It’s...apprehensive, maybe? Guarded, somehow. “Is that right?” She says, finally, tone neutral. 

“Do you know who she was with last night?”

Hélène’s mouth twitches, and then she turns away, laughing. “Ah, the hickeys. Marya did say you were curious about those.”

“Do you know who left them?”

“Why would I know something like that, precious?” Hélène opens the fridge and pulls out two seltzer waters, passing one to Natasha. She closes the fridge and leans back against it. Her gaze on Natasha feels heavily, like she’s seeing every part of her, even the parts Natasha tries to hide.

“Pierre said you know about Marya’s...preference.”

Hélène’s eyebrows raise, but she looks amused. “How cute. You mean the fact that she’s a raging lesbian? Yes, I am aware of that.”

“So she talks to you about it?”

“Barely, I just have eyes. Natasha, you know Marya and I aren’t exactly close friends, right?”

“But she never told me.” 

“You’re young. You’re her relative. She’s private.” Hélène shrugs. “She’s never brought anyone over here, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

“You don’t have any idea of who it might be?”

“I’m afraid not, little one.” Hélène smiles, gently, but it doesn't quite reach her eyes. “Don’t look so disappointed. I’m sure she’ll tell you if it’s anything important.”

“She didn’t even tell me she was gay. Even you told me you’re bisexual and we’ve known each other less than a year.”

“Well, I tell everyone. Some people don’t.” 

“She’s my godmother. I want to know more about her. I want her to be happy.”

“Matchmaking rarely makes anyone happy.” Hélène advises. “And you know Marya wouldn’t like it.”

“I just -”

“It’s okay to be curious. Are you wondering what it’s like?”

“What - it’s like - ? I am already in love, I have Andrey -”

Hélène laughs, shakes her head. “Goodness, no. Not that. Being with a woman.”

Natasha ducks her head and looks away, heat rising again to her cheeks. She cannot meet Hélène’s eyes - nor any other part of her, so exposed, while they’re having this conversation.

“No. I am with Andrey.”

“That doesn’t mean your sexuality shuts down.” Hélène says, amusement in her voice. “It’s alright to wonder. To experiment. You’re young.”

“Everyone’s always telling me how young I am. But I know what - who I want.”

“Do you? Well, that’s nice.” Hélène shrugs a shoulder and moves towards her room. “Well, as long as you’re here early, you might as well help me pick out something to wear. Oh, and you can borrow something of mine too, if you like.”

Natasha, surprised, rushes to follow her. “Oh - I brought a dress -”

“Nonsense, we’ll put you in something fancy tonight. For fun. You’ll look lovely. Of course, you’d look lovely in anything, dear.”

Natasha smiles, the warmth and pride that comes from being flattered by a beautiful person blossoming in her chest. 

“Would you help dress me for Andrey’s welcome home party too, Hélène?” She asks as she steps into Hélène’s room. It’s small, as most New York bedrooms tend to be, but luxuriously decorated. It gives off an air of effortless elegance and glamor. Hélène is at her closet, shifting through dresses. She doesn’t turn to look at Natasha, but smiles.

“You haven’t even seen my work yet.” She says lightly. “But of course I’ll help you, if that’s what you want. When is this coming home party, exactly?”

“Oh...well, we’re not sure, exactly. We thought he’d be home already, but he wrote to both Mary and I explaining that he would be delayed longer. The study abroad program was extended so…”

“He didn’t give you a return date?”

Natasha shakes her head. “Not yet. But it will be soon. It has to be...I miss him so much.”

“Of course you do. But, that doesn’t mean you can’t have plenty of fun while he’s gone. How dreadful of him to just leave a beautiful young girl all by herself in the city.” Hélène says, all playful and teasing. Natasha’s not sure why, but the words unsettle her. Andrey _did_ leave for his study abroad program almost the day Natasha arrived to sign on with the ballet, but it wasn’t like he was leaving her - it was just bad timing. Still, she misses him. A small part of her does feel angry he’s been delayed so long.

“Oh, well, I’m not alone. I have Sonya, and Marya, and Pierre of course…”

“Of course.” Hélène says sweetly. “Dear Pierre.”

“Is it true you two were engaged, once?” Natasha can’t help but ask. Sonya has always told her not to ask so many personal questions, but her curiosity always gets the better of her. Luckily, Hélène doesn’t look offended. Instead, she laughs and shrugs one elegant shoulder.

“Oh, something like that.” She grins and pulls a beautiful white and silver dress from her closet. “To this day no one’s really sure how all of that happened. We were young, idealistic maybe...but we were never much of a match. Romantically. I mean, he liked my tits, but…no basis for a long term thing, you know?”

Natasha flushes heavily, unable to help her gaze flying straight to Hélène’s chest. She quickly looks away, but by the older woman’s laughter, it wasn't quick enough.

“Don't be embarrassed, Natasha. Like I said, it’s alright to be curious.”

“Well - you are beautiful, Hélène, but I - well, I just don't know about all of that. Andrey and I haven't even-”

Hélène nods, placing a gentle hand on Natasha’s shoulder. “If it makes you uncomfortable, we don't have to talk about it. I promise I can reign myself in - even if Marya doesn't believe me when I say that.”

Natasha shakes her head. “No, it's okay. I’m not a child anymore, and - I want to know these things. I want to know more about the world.”

“Well, New York will certainly teach you. Just - be careful? For Marya’s sake. Honestly, she has half a heart attack over you every other day.” Hélène rolls her eyes. “No matter. Let’s have you try on this dress, eh?” She offers the sliver of white-silver fabric to Natasha, who takes it reverently.

“It’s beautiful! But...so short.”

“You’re a dancer. You have the legs for it.” Hélène shrugs a shoulder. “But if you don't like it…”

“Oh! No, of course I like it! Really. What, um, what will you be wearing?”

“I’m going out after with my brother so I have to find something appropriate for that, too…” Hélène turns back to her closet. “Go on, try the dress on. I want to make sure it fits alright.”

Natasha hesitates - the bathroom is across the apartment, near Marya’s room. She starts for the door, but Hélène’s voice stops her. 

“You can change here, you know. You’re a dancer. You must be used to it.”

“Yes, of course, I just thought - well I didn't want to be rude. Marya says it's impolite to be in a state of undress at another person’s home, or in unfamiliar company.”

“Oh? And are we so unfamiliar? It’s alright, Natasha. I’ve seen so many body parts backstage it's all the same to me. Besides, I’ll be facing my closet, anyway.”

Natasha blushes at her own childlike hesitation and naivety - of course this would be no big deal to someone like Hélène! As a dancer with a well-known and respected ballet company, even one who is just in the corps, this should be of no consequence to Natasha either. Somehow, though, Hélène makes her nervous. She wonders what the older woman will think of her, her body strong but lacking the curves of more adult women due to her dancer’s regimen and a natural inclination towards a slim frame. 

She wonders what Hélène thinks of Marya, if she thinks Marya is beautiful. If she thinks Natasha is beautiful, or some day could be. 

Everyone has always liked Natasha. She finds it easy to talk to people, to get along with them. It is no surprise that she has seemingly made such fast friends with Hélène. Why, then, is she so worried of her opinions on - more adult matters? Perhaps it's because Hélène is the first older woman who has ever talked so frankly with Natasha about such things. It’s delightful, in a sort of clandestine, forbidden way. Natasha privately thinks that's part of Hélène’s appeal - she’s like those femme fatale you see in movies, a bit. But a lot more helpful.

Decided, Natasha quickly changes out her current outfit for the dress, sliding it on and smiling at the feel of the soft fabric. It fits well enough, perhaps a little loose. When she looks up, Hélène is facing her again, a green dress in her arms. She lays that aside and walks up to Natasha, eyes appraising her.

“Oh, it’s just charming on you. You ought to keep it, get it altered to fit your chest a bit more, but it will do for tonight.” She swiftly steps behind Natasha and zips it up; Natasha shivers a bit. It’s not like when Sonya or the dressers at the ballet backstage help her dress.

“I couldn't keep this! That’s too generous.”

“It's alright. I have plenty of dresses.” As if to demonstrate, Hélène picks the green velvet dress up again and shakes it out, smoothing away any wrinkles. She flashes a grin. “Gorgeous, isn't it? It was a gift.”

“From who?” Natasha asks, then looks away as Hélène shamelessly chucks off her dressing gown and sleep shorts. Her underwear can be best described as lingerie; Natasha has never seen such a thing on anyone but a Victoria’s Secret model. Dancer underwear tends to be much more substantial.

“What do you think?” Hélène asks, and when Natasha looks back again she’s wearing the dress. It is form-fitting and unsurprisingly short, though it does have quarter length sleeves and a neckline that would be modest if not for the heart cut out on the breastbone. The material looks invitingly soft.

“It’s perfect, Hélène.” She says enthusiastically. 

“Hélène?” A voice calls from the hallway, startling Natasha slightly. Footsteps approach and she feels almost guilty, like she was caught looking at something she shouldn't. She doesn't get much time to dwell on the feeling as Marya steps into the room, eyes narrowed in a suspicious way.

“Natalya? You’re early - what are you two up to?” Her gaze goes accusingly to Hélène, who rolls her eyes but is smiling. 

“Come now, don't look at me like that, Masha. I was only helping her dress for dinner while she waited for you to get home.”

Marya eyes Natasha’s outfit. “It’s a bit short.” She says, critically. Natasha’s face falls.

“Let the girl live a little, she’s young!” Hélène says, touching Marya’s arm. The redhead’s gaze snaps to Hélène’s, and Natasha can't read whatever passes between them, only that the room falls into silence for a moment while they look at each other.

Finally, Marya sighs and Hélène drops her hand, smiling as if she’s won something. “Alright, well, I suppose you do look very pretty, Natasha.”

Natasha beams. “And Hélène too, doesn't she, Marya?”

Marya looks strangely hesitant, uncomfortable, and her gaze barely flits over Hélène. “Of course. She looks very nice.”

Natasha pauses, upset that she may be the cause of another fight between the two women. “Don't be mad at her.” She says insistently. “She wouldn't tell me anything, she really was just helping me with a dress.”

“Anything about -?”

“She was asking me about your neck, ma cher.” Hélène supplies, reaching out fingertips to touch the hollow of Marya’s throat where the makeup is starting to wear off. Marya visibly tenses, but the brunette continue speaking nonchalantly. “I told her I don't know anything, as of course, I don’t.”

Hélène smiles like she has a secret, and Marya just looks annoyed. She brushes away Hélène’s hand. Natasha is certain, now, that Hélène knows who Marya’s mystery woman is - and she must get it out of her somehow.

“Natalya, will you run to the corner store for me?” Marya says evenly, not looking away from her roommate. “I am completely out of butter for the pierogis.”

“But I -”

“Natasha, your poor godmother has been working all day on her feet.” Hélène says smoothly, and turns away from Marya to hand Natasha a jacket that’s laying on top of her desk. “Here, so you don’t get cold. Won't you do her this favor?”

Natasha frowns, but accepts the jacket from Hélène, and then cash from Marya. She is seen to the door by her godmother, who smiles stiffly and oddly.

She is still bewildered as she makes her way down the apartment stairs, and hopes Marya hasn’t shooed her out just to yell at Hélène - everyone hates it when they argue, even if they do it often and always seem to make up. Natasha vows to be quick, so she can interrupt any fighting before it gets too bad.

\---

“What are you doing with Natasha?” Marya demands, almost the second Natasha has gone. Hélène puts on a mock expression of affront, playful even in the face of Marya’s stern attitude. All her shouting and strictness doesn’t phase Hélène any more - Marya’s bark is much worse than her bite, unless you cross certain lines. Hélène’s fully aware Marya could destroy anyone she chose to, but she also knows which buttons she can comfortably push. 

And it’s definitely hot when Marya’s all riled up.

“Me? Just dressing her up like a little doll, no harm. _She_ did come to visit me.”

“You were talking about me!”

“Hardly. I didn't tell her anything, other than confirming the fact that you’re gay -”

“You what?”

“Marya, it's not a secret, is it? You’ve far too much confidence and years of pride to closet yourself now. The first lesbian dancer at the company, weren’t you?” Hélène sighs and steps closer, effectively trapping Marya against the kitchen counter. “Anyway, Pierre told her first.”

Marya’s eyes flash. It is ridiculously attractive.

“He'll hear from me about it. But you shouldn't be gossiping about me with my goddaughter.”

“I’m sorry if you didn't want me saying anything, but I promise I didn't tell her anything much. She’s just curious about you, Marya, and can you blame her? And she’s clearly curious about her own sexuality -”

Marya arches an eyebrow, so sharp it could cut through steel. “Where did you get that notion?”

“She was very persistent in talking about you, and this mystery woman, and so flustered. I think it's more than wanting to know who you’re with. She was blushing like a fool just seeing me in a dressing gown.”

“I’m pretty sure you have that effect on everyone.”

“Well, aren't you a charmer?” Hélène smirks. She reaches out a hand, fingertips pressing against Marya’s arm. She can’t help it, with the way Marya looks right now: fired up and like she could use some release.

“Hélène, what are you doing?” Marya’s voice is hard as nails, but there’s the softest tremor at the end, that small yielding note Hélène’s gotten so good at detecting. It’s the little thing that lets her get inside Marya’s head, inside her skin, even if just for a moment. 

“You’re so wound up. Did last night not help? It usually -”

“We don’t talk about this.”

Hélène lets out a huff of air. “I’m just trying to help.”

“You’re trying to distract me.”

“Same thing.” Hélène presses her fingers down a bit more firmly, and steps into Marya’s space. They’re not supposed to be doing this, in broad daylight without a drop of intoxicants between them, those are rules. But Hélène’s never been good about adhering to rules. And she’s tired of pretending she doesn’t want Marya like that, all the time. Why should they hide it? Why shouldn’t she greet Marya at the front door with a kiss, or pick her up from the ballet studio and hold her hand as they walk down the street, _why_ -? But Marya doesn’t want that from her, of course. She wants Hélène’s kisses in the night, a rough distraction, easy satiety for when life is unsatisfying and difficult. That’s all anyone wants from Hélène. Marya is far too good for her, so why should this be any different?

She moves forward, leaning up to kiss Marya, trying to chase these ugly thoughts away. She feels Marya’s hands at her waist, and her lips pressing back softly. But it lasts only a few seconds, before Marya gently pushes Hélène back a few inches. “We can’t. Natasha will be home any minute.”

Hélène nods, lets her hand drop from Marya’s arm, but doesn’t step back. “Do you want to come out with us, tonight, Marya? We could dance together...”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Hélène.”

“Why not? You’re a wonderful dancer.”

“I’m a ballerina, not a club dancer, but regardless - I have no interest in going out drinking with your brother and Fyodor Dolokhov, Hélène. They’re trouble.”

“That’s my family.”

“Do you disagree?”

Hélène sighs. “Anatole invited Pierre, too. You said you haven’t seen him in a long time. You can say you’re there for him, and no one will think you’ve _lowered_ yourself to be seen with me and -”

“Stop.” Marya’s fingers close around Hélène’s wrist, surprising her. “Don’t talk about yourself that way. It’s not...I don’t mean to imply I think you’re beneath me.”

“I kind of wish I was.” Hélène raises an eyebrow, flirtatious.

“Don’t do that. You’re distracting, again.” Marya says, no-nonsense. She presses onwards. “You know I don’t think I’m too good to be your friend, right, Hélène?”

“We’re not friends.”

Marya looks a little struck, but doesn’t drop Hélène’s wrist.

“Yes, we are.” She insists, but apparently doesn’t like what she sees in Hélène’s expression, because her mouth tightens. “...You think I don’t like you.”

“You don’t like my friends, and I am not different from them.”

Marya shakes her head. “You’re over-simplifying the situation. Anatole and Dolokhov are reckless troublemakers and binge drinkers, and they encourage you to do silly things, but none of you are bad people. And you’re mischievous, and too clever for anyone’s good, and impulsive, but -”

“-This isn’t sounding very complimentary -”

“Shut up and let me finish.”

“Oh, yes, ma'am.”

“Hélène, you’re a charming and fun person. You’re incredibly kind-hearted underneath all the mischief. I enjoy being in your company.”

“I know what you _enjoy_ -”

“ _Elena_. I like you. As a person, not just...your beauty. Why do you insist on this self-destructive language and misdirection? If I need to prove it to you, then yes, let’s go out dancing or drinking or whatever you like. I will prove to you that we are friends.”

Hélène draws in a soft breath, her chest feeling a little tight. She doesn’t have words for this feeling. Or she does, and she can’t - she can’t use them. That’s not allowed at all. That’s a rule she won’t break. Instead of opening her mouth and saying something foolish, she wraps a hand around Marya’s neck and pulls her down into a kiss, throwing herself bodily into it.

(Friends don’t do this. It doesn’t seem to matter. It’s the only way she knows how to express herself without giving it all away.)

Marya’s hand slides up her arm and then down her back, and Hélène is on fire everywhere, she loves this, it’s so much better sober. She pushes forward, and Marya tilts a bit back over the counter, back arching and hips pressing into Hélène’s. 

Hélène sighs into the kiss as Marya’s hand slips over her ass, down to her thigh. She feels Marya’s fingertips play at the edge of the hem of her dress. She pulls back from the kiss enough to speak, her mouth lingering at Marya’s cheek. “You can touch, you know, anywhere you want-”

Marya groans in response, head tilting back. Hélène admires the beautiful line of her body, the dancer’s flexibility she’s retained through years of work. “You can’t say that, Hélène, what are you doing to me…”

“Nothing, yet.” Hélène rests a hand on Marya’s ribs, and slides it up slowly, earning a little gasp from the redhead beneath her. 

“Elena…”

God, she loves the way Marya says her birth name. She used to hate it - the name her mother gave her, so like her own - but it’s somehow alright again, on Marya’s lips.

“So, dancing?” Hélène purrs, before pressing a kiss to Marya’s jaw. 

“Anything.” Marya is breathless; Hélène can’t believe she is responsible for such a wrecked and glorious thing. She leans in for another kiss, but freezes at the sound of the door opening. Abruptly, Hélène realizes they didn’t lock the door after Natasha.

“Oh!”

Hélène pulls back, but it’s too late to pretend they were doing anything other than what they were doing. Marya stands up straight, hands fluttering as if the situation is something she can smooth away. She doesn’t meet Hélène’s eyes, or Sonya’s. Her second goddaughter is standing at the open door, mouth hanging open. She looks almost comical, frozen like that. Hélène clears her throat as she straightens out her skirt. The sound breaks Sonya into movement - the girl steps forward and closes the door quickly behind her.

“I told Natasha it couldn’t be you!” She exclaims in Hélène’s direction, then clasps a hand over her own mouth as if she could trap the words back inside. Her cheeks are pink. 

“Well, that’s a little insulting, my dear.”

Sonya shakes her head and lowers her hand. “Oh, no, that’s not what I meant - I only thought, you two fight so much! And none of us would have expected that just because you both like women you’d end up together, you know, that’s horribly presumptive but - I am happy for you, of course.” Her eyes are still wide and she speaks quickly. “Also, I think I’m gay.”

Marya buries her face in her palm, but Hélène can’t help but laugh. “Always good to know. What tipped you off - haven’t you seen two women making out before? I’m just curious, because I keep a tally, if it was me in particular - ”

“Hélène, don’t torture the girl. Sonyushka, dear, I’m sorry you walked in on that - we didn’t mean to leave the door open and we got - carried away.” She sighs. “But we’re not...I’m afraid we’d prefer if you didn’t tell anyone what you saw.”

Sonya looks carefully between the two women, her expression a cross between confusion and consideration. “You didn’t tell Natasha this morning, because you don’t want anyone to know…” She concludes. “You’re not together. You’re just hooking up.”

Marya nods once, stiffly. Hélène’s not sure that’s the best way to describe whatever it is she and Marya are doing, but it’s not her place to say differently. This is Marya’s goddaughter, her life, and Hélène would be at Marya’s mercy even if it wasn’t. She’s not sure the great dragon of ballet has any idea how much power she has over Hélène.

“Oh. Yes, it would be better if Natasha didn’t know that.” Sonya says gently. “She’d be difficult to convince that it wasn’t something epically romantic, and of course, she’s relentless. I don’t like keeping secrets from her, but I won’t mention this. I promise.”

“Thank you, Sonya.”

“Though I would, um, possibly be more careful about the …?” She gestures to her own neck, indicating the line of bruises on Marya’s, smudgy under worn makeup. “She’ll keep asking questions.”

Marya nods. “Hélène?”

“What? I can control myself.”

“There’s a new one just there, on her chin.” Sonya points out, and Marya turns to glare at Hélène. Hélène only smiles in response, nonchalant. 

“What? You liked it.”

“Don’t you dare get in the habit of this - flirtatious nonsense - Kuragina, just because Sonya knows it doesn’t mean you need to subject her to your terrible lines as well.”

“Fine, fine. Come on, let’s get that covered before Natasha comes back and the rest of our guests show up.” Marya lets Hélène lead her towards their shared bathroom. Hélène glances at Sonya as they pass her, throwing an outrageous wink in her direction. Sonya isn’t her cousin, she doesn’t blush, she simply places a hand to her temple as if mitigating an oncoming headache. At least Sonya seems to know that this sort of thing can only end in widespread chaos. This incident is only proof of how far it’s already spiraled out of control; they can't keep this secret forever. But what are they supposed to do when they don't even have a label for what they're doing, when their carefully constructed rules have been thrown out? Hélène doesn’t think either she or Marya are fooling themselves to the end that it’s trouble waiting to happen, but she’s pretty sure Sonya would have the good sense to stop herself, while they certainly don’t.

She’s gentle as she works the concealer into Marya’s skin, bathroom door closed firmly behind them. They’re pressed dangerously close together in the tiny room, and Marya’s hand rests casually on Hélène’s hip. It doesn’t feel as charged as in the kitchen, but Hélène still feels warm all over. Her heart is strangely present in her chest. They are both quiet as she works. She feels content, as at peace as she remembers feeling when she was a child, and she and Anatole had free reign of the house while her father was away on business.

It’s something she hasn't felt in a long time.

When she’s finished, she sets the makeup down on the bathroom counter, and rises up on her toes to press a kiss to the highest point of Marya’s left cheekbone. Her eyelashes beat once against Marya’s skin before she pulls back.

"You're all set. Like it never happened."

She avoids Marya’s eyes.

“Elena.” Her voice is soft. Marya rarely speaks so softly, and it cracks Hélène’s heart. It scares her.

“No. Not now.” She answers, and steps back, still avoiding Marya’s eyes as she leaves the bathroom. She’s not sure how much of her heart she's revealed, but she can’t face it. She doesn't want to see if Marya knows - because if Marya knows, surely she is disgusted. She doesn't want someone like Hélène loving her.

And she can't lose what they have, even if it's just stolen kisses in the dark. That will be enough for Hélène. It has to be.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a dinner is eaten, Natasha meets someone she shouldn't, and Marya accompanies Helene and the boys to the club.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is a bit of a long one! I do want to warn any more sensitive readers that it does get a little ~sexier towards the end, though there is no actual smut or sex. Just so you know. :)

After the rocky start, dinner is actually a fairly smooth affair. Natasha comes back with the butter, and Pierre, who she met up with in the store. He gifts Marya and Hélène with a bottle of wine. Sonya is quiet, but she's always quiet. She’s sure Natasha and Pierre don't notice anything strange about her behavior. 

Marya, however, watches her like a hawk. It’s not incredibly subtle, but there is little Sonya can do to point that out to her. Luckily Natasha is oblivious, happily chattering away about the ballet, and Pierre is more interested in the food and drink than Marya’s watchful gaze on Sonya.

She wants to scream that she can keep a secret. She’s always been Natasha’s confidante, she’s used to it. And she’s not about to spill this, of all things. She’s not even sure what she’d say. Hélène and Marya aren’t dating, they’re not together, they're just - roommates who mess around? Fuck buddies? It’s nothing something Sonya wants to think about too much. Except to think that - well, it looked like something she’d really want to do. Not kiss either Hélène or Marya, but - a woman. More than she’s ever felt a pull to kiss a man, anyway.

Regardless of how potentially educational for her the moment in the kitchen was, Sonya’s well aware this situation is going to end in disaster. She’s just not going to help it along any faster by bringing Natasha into it. 

The doorbell sounds just as they’re wrapping up desert, and Hélène springs up from the table to go and answer it. Sonya hears delighted laughter from the hallway, and two male voices alongside Hélène’s.

“Pierre!” She calls from her place at the door. “Marya! It’s time to go. Let the kids lock up after us.” 

Pierre looks at Marya curiously. 

“I told her I would come with you all. Dinner is not enough time to spend with an old friend, when we haven't met for weeks.” Marya says warmly to Pierre, clasping his arm. “Come, let’s go.”

She and Pierre stand, but are stopped from leaving by a tall blonde man swaggering in from the hall. 

“Pierre my good man!” He exclaims, exuberant. His grin is wide and his eyes glitter in a genial manner. His hair towers above him, extending his height and making him look very princely. Most people would describe him as exceptionally handsome. 

Sonya does not like him.

“Tolya, I told you we must go, you can greet Pierre outside.” Hélène says as she sweeps into the room, looking impatient. She’s followed by a dark-haired man with a beard - Sonya recognizes him, he plays in the orchestra for the ballet occasionally and has always been kind to her. 

She turns to remark this to Natasha, and ask if she remembers the man’s name correctly as Fyodor, but when she turns to her cousin she sees Natasha is frozen as an ice sculpture. Her expression is slightly glassy, cheeks flushed, and she is looking straight at the blonde man. 

Sonya curses internally.

“Nonsense, I must greet everyone, and look -” His head turns, and he locks eyes with Natasha. His smile looks like a viper’s to Sonya, deadly and ready to bite. “A beautiful woman, unmet. A tragedy.”

Sonya looks to Marya, whose jaw clenches. Marya’s sharp eyes travel to Hélène, who then lays a firm hand on the man’s arm.

“Anatole.” She says, voice demanding. Of course, this is Hélène’s brother, Anatole Kuragin, who by rumor has slept with half the ballet company and half of Hélène’s actor friends, too - despite the fact that he’s neither a dancer nor an actor. “We’re leaving, now.”

“But who is-?”

“I’m Natasha.” Natasha finally offers, sounding breathless. Sonya takes an instinctive step forward as if to place herself bodily between the two.

“Anatole.” He moves towards Natasha, but is stopped by his sister’s grip. 

“Have your pleasantries later.” Hélène says. “We’ll be late for happy hour. No offense, of course, Natasha - Sonya.”

Sonya shakes her head. “No, of course, you must go. We’ll clean up and lock the apartment when we leave.” 

Marya nods and steps forward decisively, breaking the spell and scattering Dolokhov and Pierre towards the door. Hélène presses Anatole’s arm, and he flashes one last smile at Natasha before following his friends down the hall. Marya stops by Hélène’s side and shakes her head, giving her a significant look, but Hélène just shrugs a shoulder and takes Marya’s arm at the elbow.

“Are you sure you don't want to borrow an outfit, Masha?” She asks sweetly. “Something not red for a change, though red looks incredibly se-”

“We’ll be late, Hélène.”

With that, Marya leads Hélène out of the apartment, leaving Sonya alone with Natasha.

“Natasha -”

“Oh, Sonya - wasn't he beautiful?” Natasha says breathlessly. She sounds alarmingly like she did after she saw her first ballet at the New York company, with Marya playing the firebird. She sounds awestruck.

“He was fine. Not as handsome as Andrey, though, of course?” Sonya presses, and Natasha shakes her head, as if coming out of a daze. She looks a little guilty.

“Oh, no, well, handsome and beautiful are - different.” She bites her lower lip. “Both the Kuragin siblings are very beautiful.”

Sonya doesn't quite disagree - she knows they are both aesthetically pleasing, although she finds she’s not as affected by male beauty as she once thought. But she also knows they’re dangerous. Even Hélène, who is clearly enraptured with their godmother, is no safe target for one of Natasha’s little crushes. Natasha is young, and kind, and naive - and the Kuragins have been playing their very charming, enticing games for years. Sonya’s been in the city and with the company only a year longer than Natasha, and she’s heard several dozen rumors about them both.

“Well, all that doesn't matter, does it? Marya doesn't want us hanging out with them.”

“We have dinner with Hélène all the time! And she’s going out with them! Marya lives with Hélène, surely she can’t be avoided.”

“That’s different. Look, Natasha, Anatole is trouble. He has a reputation.” Sonya tries, but Natasha’s expression doesn't change.

“I should like to know more about him.” She says stubbornly. “I don't trust rumors. And Hélène has been so sweet to me, and she is very close with him. He cannot be so bad.”

Sonya sighs. “Just be careful, Natasha.”

“There is nothing to worry about. I have Andrey, don’t I? I’m not going to...I just want to know him.”

Sonya frowns, but nods, letting the subject drop. She’ll keep an eye on her friend; she knows what Natasha is capable of once she sets her mind to it, but Sonya can protect her. She’s sure of it.

\--

They walk to the club, a favorite of the Kuragin siblings. It’s a decently long walk, but it's a nice night. Marya walks beside Pierre and they trail several feet behind the others, which is a dangerously good place to observe the sway of Hélène’s hips in the green velvet dress Marya had given her for her birthday last year. She almost regrets it, with how sinfully good Hélène looks. 

Hélène holds onto her brother’s arm lightly, laughing with him and Dolokhov. Marya’s eyes slip down the line of her legs, to the heels she’d thrown on, then back up again. She feels a fire inside of her. She’s afraid it’s grown out of control, and that something’s going to give soon. She’s not sure she’s ever wanted someone this much. A part of Marya wonders if it's just the anticipation, the seductive danger of the game they’re playing, but a larger part of her realizes it's something more. She’s just not ready to admit it. 

“She is very beautiful.” Pierre murmurs next to her, snapping Marya out of her thoughts. “But I hope you’re being careful.”

“I - what?”

“I don't think we were ever really in love, but she still managed to crush my heart, for a time.” Pierre says calmly as if he has not utterly shocked Marya. She curses herself for being so obvious; will everyone know before the day is out? Pierre doesn’t turn to look at Marya, but continues speaking. “There was fault on both sides, of course, but - everything with a Kuragin is ...dramatic. They’re like miniature storms. It feels good at first to dance in the rain and get lost to the wind, and then the damage -”

“Pierre, stop. I haven't the faintest clue why you’re telling me all this.”

“You let me rant about Aristotle for 5 full minutes without interrupting because you were so focused on Hélène’s ass.” Pierre sighs. “Marya, I know I’m - often not present, and I have been...indulging some poorer whims as of late, but I’m not a fool. When Natasha asked, I thought it couldn't possibly be Hélène, but seeing you two together today - well. I know what Hélène looks like when she’s...interested in someone.”

“It’s nothing.”

“It’s certainly not, even if you’re just sleeping together.”

“We’re not!” Marya says sharply, then quiets her tone, for fear the other members of their party will catch on to the conversation. “We haven’t slept together.”

Pierre’s brow furrows. “But the -”

“Yes, the hickeys, I know, God, I’m going to kill her for those. So we’ve gotten drunk and kissed, on occasion. It means nothing.”

“Maybe that would be true if we were still young and experimenting, but we’re not. You and I both know this isn’t something you can brush away.”

“You two brushed away a whole engagement.”

“First, we were twenty years old, and second - you know it wasn’t that easy. It took us a long time to become friends again. And she never loved me like she loves you.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Pierre. A little bit of kissing is not love.”

“She’s loved you for years, Marya.” Pierre shakes his head. “The way she talks about you. She’s never admired anyone like that, you know? Never respected anyone besides herself, if I’m honest.”

“If you think Hélène respects me, you’re -”

“Completely correct? Marya, you’re the only person she’ll even remotely listen to.”

“Remotely is the key word.” Marya sighs heavily. “I know this is stupid, Pierre. Even if we didn’t live together, it’s a foolish - entanglement. If I’m honest, I want more than - than kisses, but - if I let it go that far, we won’t be able to come back from it. But I know I can’t stop myself.”

Pierre nods, and reaches out to put an arm around Marya. He squeezes her gently. It’s strange. She’s not used to her friends taking care of her, comforting her. That’s usually her role.

“I suppose you never know. It could work out.” He says.

“What, exactly, could work out about this?” Marya replies, her tone a little bitter, a little sad.

Pierre opens his mouth to reply, but the Kuragin siblings and Dolokhov have stopped before them. They’ve arrived at the club. Hélène turns around with a smile so radiant, in such sharp contrast to Marya’s own pang of sadness, that it seems to take her breath away for a moment. The other woman breaks free of her brother and moves to Marya’s side, taking her arm.

“Here we are, now, and you promised me a dance.” She says. Marya can feel Pierre’s eyes on them, and she knows this is only further confirmation for him of how absolutely fucked Marya is.

“At least let me have a drink first.” Marya tells Hélène, but her answering smile is indulgent. Marya lets herself be dragged into the club, and she purposefully avoids Pierre’s knowing gaze.

She wants to reprimand Hélène, remind her that they ought not to be so - affectionate - with one another in public, but Hélène looks so happy she can’t bring herself to do so. Instead she lets Hélène bring her to the bar and order her favorite drink for her. She can tell by the bartender’s smile he thinks she is Hélène’s date, just another girl brought along for a wild night out with the Kuragins, only to be disposed of when one sibling or another gets bored. But a strange sort of pride blossoms in her heart, knowing that she’s not - she’s not disposable to Hélène. Marya can’t help sliding an arm around Hélène’s waist, perhaps a bit possessive. She’ll blame the crowds at the bar if she has to. Hélène turns to her and grins, leans in to talk to her over the noise.

“I wish they weren’t here.”

“Who?”

“Everyone.” Suddenly, Marya feels Hélène’s hand - high on the inside of her thigh, where her hand should not be. She yelps, as controlled as possible given the surprise. 

“Stop that.” She says sternly, and Hélène’s touch disappears.

“Later, then.” Hélène promises, and turns back to the bar to retrieve their drinks. Marya’s heart beats harder in her chest. So, they are going to cross that line, then? A part of her is relieved she’s not the only one who’s barreling full speed towards the cliff, but God, if they jump together…

She takes in a deep breath. She takes her drink. One step at a time.

“Hélène, we should talk -”

“No, we should dance. Or drink. Or drink, then dance. We shouldn’t talk.” At Marya’s stern look, Hélène presses her lips together, then continues. “Why should we pretend we weren’t always going to end up fucking, Marya? It’s ridiculous, even for us.”

Marya tenses at Hélène’s frank language. Normally, Marya is honest to a fault, brash, and speaks her mind. But this is something she wasn’t quite prepared for, prepared to do. She bristles slightly. “I thought you invited me here so we could prove we could be friends.”

“Yes, and we can be friends who fuck, can’t we?” Hélène replies. Her tone is strange - Marya detects some reluctance, a hint of guilt, or sadness - she can’t tell. Her expression relaxes into one of sincerity. “Marya. I want tonight to be a good night. For us both. And I want - I want to stop pretending I don’t want you.” Her hand is on Marya’s arm, and Marya swears Hélène is trembling just slightly. She feels her own heart stutter.

“I don’t want to be your one-night stand, Hélène.” She hears herself confess, against her own will. Hélène’s grip on her arm tightens.

“You won’t be. We’re friends, Marya. You promised me that, now I’m promising you.” She presses closer to Marya, under the guise of making room for a group heading towards the bar. “But Marya, haven’t you been thinking about this too? It’s time to stop pretending we’re satisfied with a few drunken makeouts. We’re both grown women, not teenagers.”

“Alright, but -”

“Don’t worry, I’ll behave in front of the boys.” Hélène says, and her voice dips low. She leans up so her mouth is pressing the shell of Marya’s ear. “But when I get you home tonight…”

Marya shivers. She knows Hélène can feel it, because Hélène laughs. She nips at Marya’s ear and then is spinning away, her hand in Marya’s, pulling her towards the booth the boys have snagged for them. Marya just hopes she doesn't look too dazed. 

“You didn’t get us drinks?” Dolokhov looks affronted but not entirely serious, his legs up on the table, leaning back with the air of man careless of the attention he’s attracting.

“Whoops.” Hélène grins and pulls Marya down to sit next to her. “Too much to carry, the way you boys drink.”

“Oh, sweet sister, you’re a devil.” Anatole shakes his head. “Come on, Fedya, we’ll get a round for us and Pierre.” He knocks Dolokhov’s boots from the table and pushes him out of the booth, hurrying them towards the bar.

Hélène is pressed right to Marya’s side, despite the fact that there’s plenty of room in the booth without Anatole and Dolokhov. 

“So, Pierre, darling, how have you been?” Hélène asks, reaching a hand across the table to take Pierre’s. “We haven't seen you at the theatre lately.”

“Ah, well, no one wants the owner there too often.” He shrugs a shoulder, smiling good-naturedly. “I’m doing just fine, Elena.”

Hélène wrinkles her nose. “Hélène will do, as you well know.”

“I heard Marya call you Elena earlier.”

“Yes, and so?” Hélène releases Pierre’s hand to wave hers dismissively. “I am a fickle creature.”

“I remember when you used to let me call you Elena.” Pierre presses on, and Marya raises an eyebrow, wishing he would knock it off.

“Yes, Pierre, the sex was very good and I let you get away with it then, and now you can’t, so let it go.”

“So Marya must be very good at -”

“Stop there, Pierre.” 

Hélène looks between the two of them and groans. “Really? Two in one day? How did you guess, Pierre?”

“It was easy, you won't stop flirting with her.”

“I flirt with everyone.”

“Not like that.” Pierre shakes his head. “And anyway, two? Who else knows? If it’s Anatole, everyone will know by sunrise tomorrow.”

“It’s not Anatole, thank god. Sonya walked in on us in the kitchen earlier.” Hélène says carelessly, as if it’s not a big deal that Marya’s goddaughter walked in on them necking like teenagers. “I think we might have been her lesbian awakening, which is nice.”

“Honestly, Hélène.” Marya sighs.

“What? It’s cute.”

“You’re insufferable.”

Hélène grins as if she’s been complimented. The boys approach the table with a tray of drinks, and Pierre accepts his gratefully.

“Thank God, I need this.”

“The girls driving you crazy with their bickering?” Anatole asks, grinning. “You should find someone to dance with, old man.”

“I’m literally only five years older than you.”

“And yet, you sit here as if you were old and near dead! Be happy, Pierre, we live to love!” Anatole enthused, gesturing to the room. “There are plenty of pretty girls - and men -?” Here, he gauges Pierre’s expression, which does not change from a tired sort of patience. He shrugs when he gets no confirmation or denial of Pierre’s sexual preference. “- who would love to brighten your night.” Anatole concludes.

“I’m happy to sit and drink with my friends.” Pierre tells him.

“Have it your way.” Anatole knocks back a shot from the tray and stands, towering and posing in that odd, jaunty way of his. If it weren't for Hélène, Marya would never be seen in his company. She thinks he looks like a fool, with that bolstering walk of his and the eternally stupid grin on his face. She may be a lesbian, but even so, she doesn't understand how anyone could be attracted to such blatant posturing.

“I’m going to find someone to dance with.” He declares, and moments later is disappeared into the crowd. Marya catches Hélène reach out across the table to touch Dolokhov on the arm, gently. He turns his head and smiles at her, a sad look.

When he returns to his drink, Hélène turns to Marya.

“Have you had enough to drink, for a dance?” She asks, lip curled up invitingly.

“I’m afraid not.” Marya grins back, shaking her head. “I will have to substantially more drunk to ignore the fool I’ll be making of myself out there. Ballet is not - well, whatever everyone out there is doing.”

“You’ll look gorgeous as always, ma cher.” 

“What have I said about your French pronunciation?” 

Hélène just smiles.

“Well, my dear, if you don't mind favoring me with a dance while you wait for our prima ballerina here to get drunk?” Dolokhov offers to Hélène, and holds out his hand. 

“I suppose I must make do.” Hélène says, playfully dramatic, and Marya gets up so she can slide out of the booth and take Dolokhov’s offered hand.

“Come find me when you’re ready, Masha.” She says as Dolokhov draws her away into the crowd. Marya nods, and when she turns to Pierre, his eyebrow is raised significantly.

“Don't say a word.” Marya warns, then drains the rest of her drink. Pierre nods, and slides one of the new drinks from the tray towards her.

\---

Fedya spins her playfully onto the dance floor, Hélène laughing as she nearly crash lands into his arms. They've always made good dance partners, both of them competent enough to match rhythm, but neither serious enough that they care so much how they look. Plus, they've always been able to understand each other. In a way, Fedya has been like a brother to her as much as Anatole (and more than Ippolit) for most of her life now.

“You’re in deep, aren't you, Hélène?” He asks her, because he can always read her.

“A bit, perhaps. No worse than you and my hopelessly oblivious brother.”

“Ah, except Marya does notice you.”

“Well, something like that. How long have you known, Fedya?”

“Weeks now. But you’ve really ramped up your pining lately, dear.”

“I can’t help it. She’s -” Hélène doesn't have the words, but Fedya nods as if he understands. He is probably the only one who does.

“I know.” He says.

“You are too good for my brother, Fedya.” Hélène tells him, letting him turn her in a circle on the dance floor; they are dancing more like old-fashioned royalty than club goers, but she doesn't care. “Marya is too good for me and that is why I will never truly have her, but you deserve better than Anatole. And you know I love him.”

“It’s no use to tell me that.” Fedya tells her, sighing. “He really was chatting up a storm about Natasha tonight, wasn't he?”

Hélène rolls her eyes. “You know him and pretty things. He'll forget about her tomorrow.”

“I don't know, Hélène. There’s something about the way he spoke...we need to watch them.”

“It’s nothing. Look at him, he’s already found some other distraction.” She gestures over Fedya’s shoulder, and he spins her, so he can spot Anatole dancing with some stranger across the floor.

“Well, he’s a lusty bastard, we already knew that.” Fedya says, his tone resigned. Hélène hates hearing him so defeated; he really is better than this. “I still think we’d better keep him away from Marya’s goddaughter.”

“What do you think Marya and I have been trying to do? Don't you think it's odd that Natasha has been in the city for months and they've only just met? Marya absolutely forbade me from having Anatole come to our dinners. But look, it was inevitable, and she has a - naive innocence that's very attractive for Anatole. He may just need to get her out of his system a bit, but it's not like he can do anything with her. She’s very much in love already, with Bolkonsky.”

“We both know Anatole has persuaded wiser women out of their clothes and into his bed.”

Hélène shakes her head. “We won't let that happen.”

“You and me? Or you and Marya?”

Hélène smiles. “All of us. It will be fine, Fedya.” She presses a palm over his heart, gentle, and taps her fingers. “You know, you ought to find a better place to keep this old thing.”

“Could you stop loving Marya, if you tried?”

Hélène ducks her head. He’s right, of course, they're both in over their heads without a life raft. “If only we could have fallen in love with each other, eh, Fedya?”

“Ah, but how boring that would make our lives.” He grins at her and presses a friendly kiss to her cheek. “Don't look now, but your dragon is coming.”

Hélène can't help but perk up slightly, grinning as she spots Marya weaving through the crowd towards them. 

“Fyodor, would you mind terribly if I cut in?” Marya asks Dolokhov as she approaches. Hélène knows her well enough to see she’s lightly buzzed, her posture just a hint relaxed - and of course she still stands straighter and taller than anyone else in the room. 

“Of course. The lady’s all yours.” Fedya winks and then is gone, leaving the two women alone together.

“You’ll have to help me out here, Hélène. I don't usually do this.”

Hélène slips a hand into Marya’s, the other on her waist, almost like they’re about to waltz. Marya laughs softly. It’s muffled under the club music, but it sounds beautiful.

“I’m pretty sure this isn’t how we’re meant to be doing it.”

“No? Were you looking for something a little more like this?” Hélène grins and brings Marya in close, their fronts pressing together. She releases Marya’s hand only to trail fingertips up her arm, over her neck, cupping the base of her skull tenderly. She closes her eyes, lets the music wash over her, the pounding beat telling her hips how to move. Her hand on Marya’s waist presses in, guiding the other woman to pick up the rhythm. It’s easy enough for Marya - she has musicality in her blood and bones, so some club song with a repetitive bassline is child’s play. And Hélène and Marya know how to work with each other’s body. Even if they haven’t slept together yet, they know each other. They move well together. A year of living in a tiny apartment together has almost been like one long dance.

Marya’s hands find their way to Hélène’s hips. Hélène hooks her chin over Marya’s shoulder, enjoying the way a few loose curls from Marya’s bun brush against her cheek. She falls into the way they sway together, she listens to the music and rolls her hips up. Marya’s hands on her tighten - she swears she hears her gasp, even over the music. Hélène wishes she could see them now. They probably make quite a pair, entangled and moving under dim neon lights.

The song changes and the beat picks up, so Hélène spins in Marya’s grasp, her back now pressed to Marya’s front. She throws her head back; she can hear Marya breathing, she can hear her heartbeat. 

As they dance, Hélène lets herself forget that this is a stolen fantasy. She doesn't think about how Marya is not hers to keep, but a gift she has somehow been able to borrow for a time. She doesn't think about when this will end. She wraps herself entirely in the feeling of their bodies moving together, Marya’s hands on her, the heat in the club and the heat between them.

One of Marya’s hands come to rest on her ribs, and Marya leans her head down to speak in Hélène’s ear. “Kind of like sex, isn't it?” She murmurs, and Hélène shivers.

“Kind of. But just wait until the real thing.” Hélène says back. The hand on her waist brushes over velvet fabric, lower, and Marya chuckles in that deep tone of hers. It sends fire straight through Hélène.

“What if I don't want to wait?”

“Let’s get a cab right now.” Hélène proposes.

“And that wouldn't look suspicious?”

“Don't we look suspicious right now?” Hélène spins again so she’s back to facing Marya, and places her arms around her neck. “The only one here who’s oblivious is Anatole, and he’ll stay oblivious when he’s so focused on getting laid.”

“A typical Kuragin trait it seems.”

Hélène swats at Marya’s arm playfully.

“So Fedya too?”

“He won't tell Anatole, I promise. But we’re -”

“Being obvious. I know.”

“So come home with me?”

“We live together.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Yeah. I do.” Marya leans down, presses her forehead to Hélène’s. Hélène wishes she could kiss her right now, a want so deep that holding it back feels like swallowing the sun. It takes Herculean effort. “Well, let’s go, then.”

Hélène beams and snatches up Marya’s hand, dragging her back to the table. Anatole is still away dancing, but Fedya and Pierre are chatting together.

“Hello, my darlings, we’re leaving. You’re absolutely not invited to come along. Tell my brother I came down with a headache and made Marya take me home.”

Fedya and Dolokhov exchange a look, then glance back at the girls with identical raised eyebrows.

“Yes, we are going to do exactly what you think we’re going to do.” Hélène confirms, grinning with mischief. She feels Marya’s glare on her cheek.

“No need to be crass, Hélène.”

“Says the great dragon of ballet, known for her frankness.”

“Just because we’re terrible at keeping a secret doesn't mean you need to air our affairs to our friends -”

“Oh, relax, it’s fine, we can trust Pierre and Fedya -”

“It’s not an issue of trust -”

“Will you two please go and fuck already?” Fedya interrupts their bickering, sounding exasperated. “Please. Spare us this domestic tiff and go work your shit out.”

Marya looks affronted, but Hélène nods. “Sounds reasonable. Let’s go.” She tugs Marya along with her out of the club to the street, sticking out her free hand to hail a cab.

“I still think you’re insufferable.” Marya says, but there’s no heat in it. Hélène squeezes her hand.

“Trust me, you won’t be suffering any more tonight.” No, Hélène plans to make Marya feel wonderful tonight. She wants her to have the perfect night - a complete release from all responsibility and worries, a total immersion into pleasure. Hélène may not always be the most thoughtful or selfless person, but if there’s one thing she does excel at it, it is the gift of pleasure. 

The cab pulls up and they slide into the backseat. Hélène lets Marya go first, and presses herself to Marya’s side, immediately lowering her mouth to Marya’s neck. 

“Hélène! This is - highly inappropriate - stop, we have to give the driver our address.”

“No worries, princesses. I know where you’re going.” The driver says in a familiar jovial tone, and Hélène breaks away to let out a joyous gasp. She leans forward between the two front seats to greet their driver.

“Balaga! How is it you always find us?”

“Guess I have a penchant for attracting trouble.” Balaga grins, all teeth and good humor. Hélène pokes his shoulder playfully.

“Sure you do. Hey, I’ll give you an extra twenty if you can get us home in half the time.”  
“Don’t I always?” Balaga asks, pulling out into traffic. “Someone’s eager, I see...you know, I always thought you two might hook up. Very palpable chemistry.”

Marya groans. “Will every one of our friends know before the night’s out?”

Hélène sits back as the cab picks up speed, laughing. “Oh, well, it’s just Balaga! As long as it’s not Anatole or Natasha it’s no trouble, right?” 

“I’m not sure I trust your definition of trouble.” Marya says dryly. She reaches over to pull Hélène to sit properly in her seat, and pulls the seatbelt across her to click it into place. Hélène lets her do this with an amused smile on her face, secretly loving Marya manhandling her.

“Thanks, sweetheart.” She says coyly, batting her eyelashes, and Marya levels her with an unamused look.

“You shouldn’t be riding in any car without your seatbelt, let alone Balaga’s.”

As if to prove this statement, the car takes a sharp turn, throwing them both to the side. Balaga’s laughter carries through the cab.

“My hero.” Hélène says to Marya, reaching out to take her hand. “You’ve saved my life.”

“Don’t be amusing about this, Hélène. I’m serious. Your safety is important.” Marya says firmly, but doesn’t pull her hand away. Instead, she interlaces her fingers with Hélène’s, and so help her - it feels like home.

“Okay.” Hélène says softly. She feels suddenly helpless. She’d do anything for Marya. It scares her to realize that. She looks away when Marya meets her eyes, not wanting her to see the vulnerability there.

“Okay.” Marya says finally in reply. They’re quite the rest of the ride, which is only a few short minutes the way Balaga drives. It’s a wonder he hasn’t lost his license, but Hélène is grateful for him nonetheless. She tips him far above the necessary amount and thanks him as she and Marya leave the cab.

At the front door, she hesitates a moment. Her hand is still in Marya’s.

“Marya.” She says, getting her attention as Marya looks in her bag for the keys. The redhead looks up, a question in her eyes. Hélène braces herself. “You really do want to do this, don’t you?”

“I believe I’ve made that fairly clear.” Marya says, eyebrow arched, searching Hélène’s gaze.

“No, I know, I mean - you won’t regret this? You won’t...treat me differently, after?” Hélène presses on. She needs to know. If having Marya this way means losing her in a more significant capacity, she’s not sure she can do it. She can’t lose the woman she loves for one night of satisfaction.

“Of course not.” Marya says softly. There’s concern in her eyes, but complete sincerity. “I wouldn’t do that to you.” She steps closer, keys momentarily forgotten. “Hélène. I know that people have hurt you before, and used you, but you know me. I won’t be that person.”

Hélène nods, unable to speak. She leans up and kisses Marya, pressing her back against the door. It’s a sweet kiss, slow and light, asking for nothing more. Because Marya is so good at giving Hélène what she needs, she lets her control the kiss, simply resting a hand on her waist. When Hélène pulls away, she is smiling.

“Now, shall we?” She asks, and Hélène nods.

There’s laughter as Marya tries to unlock the door with Hélène’s hands on her waist and mouth on her neck; they practically fall through once it’s open, stumbling and giggling like teenagers, unable to break apart. Hélène moves them towards Marya’s bedroom. It gets the best sunlight in the morning, and she can’t wait to see the shine of Marya’s hair on the pillows.

She’s careful as she pulls Marya down onto the bed, but it seems as though Marya has a different idea. A beautiful smirk unfolds on those red, red lips and suddenly Hélène is being pinned to the mattress, lips against her jaw.

“You know I have to pay you back for all the lovely marks you’ve left, don’t you?” Marya murmurs. Her hand slides down Hélène’s side and her mouth is a vicious attack on her neck. Hélène feels absolutely overwhelmed, but she doesn’t care. It’s so good to give herself over to this. There is nothing more beautiful in the world than this.

For the rest of the night, self-doubt leaves Hélène’s mind. Her world is nothing but Marya, her hands and her lips and soft curves. It is the color red, the softness of the sheets and the slide of their skin together, and the scent of cinnamon and black tea. It is overwhelming happiness, contentment, and then sweetly earned exhaustion.

They fall asleep entangled together in the early hours of the morning, and privately, Hélène thinks this was how it was always meant to be.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Anatole asks Hélène for a favor over brunch, and the annual Kuragin Halloween party is held.

“Well, sweet sister, you are positively glowing today.” Anatole compliments as Hélène sweeps into his loft, her grin wide and pure. She feels as though she is walking on air; until now she would have thought of such a thing a dumb metaphor. She’s was definitely no virgin, but sex has never made her feel like his before. She feels so exuberantly happy. She feels at home in her body, at peace with it as more than a tool or a weapon or a means to an end. It’s like Marya’s touch blessed her skin, purified her.

It’s ridiculous, how effervescent she feels.

“Aren't I always glowing?” Hélène says, pressing a kiss to Anatole’s cheek in greeting. “Good afternoon, dear brother.”

“Dolokhov is bringing brunch along from our favorite place. You know, I thought you’d be more grumpy, considering you had to leave the club early last night with a headache.”

“Oh, no, a bit of sleep fixed me right up.” Hélène lies smoothly, and settles down at the table. “So, where’s your conquest from last night?”

“He left at an ungodly early hour. Work or something.” Anatole waves a hand. “No matter. He wasn't that entertaining.”

Hélène shrugs a shoulder. “As you say.”

Anatole slips into the seat next to her. “But, Hélène, there is someone who has caught my eye. And I need your help.”

“You know I’d do anything for you, Tolya, but you can't mean -”

“Natasha.” He gushes, almost breathless. “She’s divine. I must have her.”

“She’s taken. Haven't you heard about her and Andrey Bolkonsky?”

“And where is Bolkonsky? Left her all alone. Someone must entertain the beautiful lady while he’s gone.”

“I don't think it’s an open relationship. And, Anatole, she’s too young for you. I agree she’s quite lovely, but you’d better leave this one.” Hélène says, sighing. She hates it when Anatole gets this persistent about someone. It makes him act all the more childishly, and it tends to upset Fedya.

“Hélène, please. I need to see her.”

“And what do you want me to do about it? You know Marya won’t have you at Sunday night dinners.”

“Invite her to our party this weekend.”

“Anatole, darling, I’m trying to tell you - this isn't a great idea. And Marya wouldn't want her going -”

“Since when do you care so much what Dmitriyevna thinks?”

“I - I don't. I only wish to look out for you -”

“I’m not afraid of her.” Anatole reaches out and grasps Hélène’s hand. “Please invite Natasha. She’ll have fun, I won't press her into anything, it will just be...nice to see her. I feel we had a connection.”

Hélène presses her lips together. She wants to say no. She trusts Dolokhov’s wisdom and her own gut instinct that this isn't the best idea, but it's so hard for her to deny her brother anything. And she can't use Marya as an excuse, it just looks suspicious. Plus, well, won’t it be fun to have Natasha at their party? It will certainly be a new experience for the young girl, and she did say she wanted Hélène’s help with such things. This is an easy way to help Natasha and get this out of Anatole’s system. Once he has his chance to flirt, and Natasha rejects him for Andrey, he’ll feign a broken heart and this all will be over. Yes, it’s for the best.

“Alright, dear brother.” She says, and can't help but smile at Anatole’s delighted expression. He’s her little brother, she’s been taking care of him and making sure he is happy for years. It's a hard instinct to break. Their mother died when they were so young. Hélène has never felt particularly inclined to be a mother since, but perhaps it's just because she’s done her share of mothering towards Anatole. Sometimes she just wants to be his friend, his confidante, his sister.

“You are an angel.” He professes, and squeezes her hand once before dropping it and standing up. “I’ll make mimosas. Will you text her?”

“Now? Awfully impatient.”

“No time like the present.”

Hélène raises an eyebrow but pulls out her phone, letting Anatole tend to their drinks. “Plenty of champagne!” She calls, before pulling up Natasha’s contact information.

**Hélène:** Natasha darling, how are you?

**Natasha:** oh Hélène! It’s so nice to hear from you. I’m great!! How are you?

**Hélène:** Very well, my charming girl. I have something i’d like to ask you.

**Natasha:** of course!! What can I do for you?

**Hélène:** accompany me to the Halloween party my brother and I are throwing at our father’s summer home?

**Natasha:** oh i’m not sure I can go to any parties..the Company likes us all to be good shape and well-rested for rehearsals and shows. Plus, Andrey, of course.

**Hélène:** why should a boyfriend prevent you from attending a party?

**Natasha:** it just seems….inappropriate

**Hélène:** Natasha you’re an adult woman of the 21st century. You don't need your boyfriend to accompany you everywhere! 

**Hélène:** if it would make you feel better i’ll be inviting Marya as well. She could be your chaperone ;)

**Natasha:** and sonya?

**Hélène:** she is more than welcome.

**Natasha:** will it be a very wild party? 

**Hélène:** oh, no, close friends only. Really. The company can't begrudge you one Halloween party! It’s practically a requirement. How can you possibly live in nyc and not go out at all?

**Natasha:** well, I suppose you’re right. And it sounds so fun…

**Hélène:** it’s settled. you and Sonya can ride over with Marya and myself. this friday night. 

**Natasha:** you really think Marya will go? I don't think she likes parties very much.

**Hélène:** I can be convincing.

**Natasha:** oh, yes.

**Hélène:** I’m excited to spend time with you again, Natasha. We’ll have a wonderful time.

**Natasha:** you’re so sweet!!! Really. I’m so flattered you want to hang out with me!

**Hélène:** nonsense. It’s an honor. I’ll talk to you soon, ma cher 

**Natasha:** have a lovely day!!

Hélène looks up for her phone, and can’t help but feel as though some of her joy from earlier has been replaced with doubt. Natasha trusts her so easily, and is so naive. Is this party really a good place for her? Well. Marya and Sonya will be there with her. It will all be fine. It has to be.

It’s not the Kuragin way to be nervous about such a thing. It’s a party. Everyone should enjoy a party. Especially the annual Kuragin Halloween party.

She gratefully accepts a mimosa from her brother when he returns to the table. “It’s done, dear. And Marya and her cousin Sonya as well. Natasha wouldn't come without them.”

Anatole pouts slightly. “Marya always looks at me like I’m about to run off with her jewels or like I kicked a puppy or something. She won't let me speak to Natasha.”

Hélène shrugs a shoulder. “I can't control everything, Tolya. Besides, she’s my roommate. I can't not invite her.”

“You fight all the time. Would it really offend her?”

“Marya’s all about manners.”

The front door clicks open, and Dolokhov enters holding a large paper bag. “Brunch has arrived!” He announces gaily, striding into the room and setting the bag down on the table. He leans down to press a kiss to Hélène’s cheek, then turns to Anatole and gives him a hug. Hélène watches him carefully. He is so casual about it, so natural and friendly. She’s not sure how he does it. Anatole is especially oblivious, but sometimes Fedya is even able to hide the outward expression of his feelings from her keen eyes.

“Fedya, my friend, you are just in time! There are drinks!” Anatole says cheerfully, gesturing to the tray of mimosas. “And now, we feast any last hints of a hangover away.”

Fedya slips into a seat next to Hélène, and then Anatole sits, completely their little trio. Their family. Sometimes, Hélène wishes Ippolit could be a part of this too, but he’s always been so different from them. She was never able to reach him like she was with Anatole. Perhaps he was too young, or it was a failure on Hélène’s part to step up and take care of them all, to compensate for the death of their mother and the absence of their father. Whatever the reason, their youngest brother has always been separate from the other Kuragins. Hélène is so grateful for Fedya. He fills some kind of hole in her heart, completes the circle and sometimes manages to temper Anatole and Hélène’s more foolish impulses. She’s not sure they deserve him.

“Hélène just invited Natasha to our party for me.” Anatole announces, and Hélène can almost feel the contentment in the room break. Fedya leans back in his chair, but shows little outward sign of distress.

“Is that right?” He asks, tone neutral. “Seems like a whole lot of trouble for a little girl. Bolkonsky has a temper, you know.”

“Ah, but Fedya, she’s exquisite. And what is Andrey Bolkonsky to me? He’s not here, don’t speak to me of all that as though it matters. It’s like my sister harping on about what Marya might think. What is that to me?”

Fedya looks to Hélène, and she shrugs. “He wouldn’t give it up unless I asked her.” She says, tone as apologetic as she can make it without it being obvious she’s apologizing to Fedya.

“Ah, yes. Our Anatole. Always so persistent.” Fedya shakes his head and begins to unpack the food, his expression carefully blank. Anatole frowns.

“You’re upset with me.” He says, and pouts.

“Of course not, Anatole.” Fedya replies, sighing. “I just think you’re being foolish, messing around with the Rostova girl.”

“Didn’t you ask her cousin out just last year?”

“Sonya Rostova isn’t taken, and she’s not freshly turned eighteen.” Fedya points out. “Regardless, all I did was ask for her number at a company party, and I’m pretty sure she doesn’t even remember it. If she did, I might hear from Dmitriyevna about it.”

“Why should Marya have any say in what two grown women do? Why are you all so afraid of her?” Anatole asks, brow wrinkling as he pulls a croissant from the stack Fedya has made. Hélène sighs, and sets down her drink. Even alcohol isn’t helping this conversation.

“You’re lucky to have never seen the dragon when she’s angry, Anatole. And her temper isn’t even the worst of it. She could pull enough strings around here to ruin just about anyone.” She explains. If she’s honest, it’s one of Marya’s more attractive qualities. Hélène does love a powerful woman. “You shouldn’t be so flippant about crossing her. She loves those girls, and won’t see them hurt.”

“I wouldn’t hurt Natasha! I adore her.”

“You barely know her.”

“The heart is ahead of such things. I feel it in my soul, that I know her deeply.” Anatole says, making a flourishing gesture with his arm, as if completing a dramatic monologue. “It is no concern of mine. Marya can do nothing to me.”

Fedya presses his lips together and looks to Hélène. It’s a significant look, but Hélène won’t acknowledge it. To reveal to Anatole what Marya means to her is an impossibility. It makes it too real, too heavy. The Kuragins are rarely so serious with one another, and Hélène has never told Anatole she loved anyone. Not even when she was engaged to Pierre. Fedya sighs.

“Even if you don’t respect her, remember your sister has to live with her. Don’t make her life miserable.” He says.

“You two are awful, teasing me like this! Do you really think I am so horrible? I mean only to entertain the girl for a night, and no harm shall come to her and no one shall be upset! It is all very simple. You will see.”

“Alright, Anatole, hush. We believe you.” Hélène says soothingly, reaching out to pat his arm. “Come now, Fedya, let’s eat and talk of other things.”

They move on with brunch, devouring the decadent food and talking happily, but Hélène can feel Fedya’s tension. Anatole, of course, is none the wiser. However, when he gets up to go and shower, Hélène is expecting Fedya’s immediate inquisition. 

“Hélène, how could you encourage this?”

“I didn’t! I told him it was a bad idea. But he absolutely begged me, he wouldn’t let it go.”

“You’re far too indulgent with him, and it will spell trouble for all of us.”

“I’m not the only one, Fedya. As if you wouldn’t give him anything he asked.”

“Not Natasha.”

Hélène reaches out and takes Fedya’s hand in hers. “I’m sorry. It’s not fair, I know. He should be so lucky to fall in love with you, but Anatole - his romantic love isn’t real. I hate to say that, it’s horrid of me, but...he’s never had a lover that lasted more than a week. I don’t think he knows the difference between love and lust, romance and desire. He’s just not capable of it. This fancy will end, as they always do. All I have ever wanted for him was someone like you. For him to be worthy of that. But you need to let him go, or accept how he is.”

“He could be better, Elena. If we forced him to see -”

“And how do you propose to do that? You know him, he is willfully ignorant of anything that doesn’t please him, and logic and reason mean little to him. You cannot force anyone to be good. You can’t force him to change.”

“I don’t want him to change. I love him, but -”

“What you are asking for is a change of character. A change for the better, but it is still a choice Anatole would have to make for himself. He’d have to put the effort in, you can’t do that for him.”

“You’ve changed. You’ve changed so much, since living with Marya. You let your tender heart out more. You care more. Love changed you.”

“So it did.” Hélène murmurs, looking down at her empty plate. She’s not sure when, exactly, she started to shift and mold herself into someone she thought Marya might respect, might like better. Her personality isn’t that different, really, but Hélène can’t help but agree with Fedya. The past year has made her a kinder person, more aware of others, more - just, more. Better. But she’s not sure if Anatole can undergo the same transformation. Perhaps it’s unfair of her, but she’s never thought of her brother as having the same depths as herself. It’s shielded him from much of the cruelty of the world, and more burdensome emotion, but it also makes him a bit shallow. She loves Anatole, her deeply naive and wildly charismatic brother. She loves him so much. But, she thinks, in some ways he will always be like a child to her. Her little brother who she must protect and clean up after.

“You don’t think he can do the same thing?” Fedya concludes from her expression.

“Since when has he ever put effort into anything, besides getting laid?”

“And you don’t think I’m capable of changing him. Because he doesn’t love me.”

“That’s not - that’s not fair, Fedya, you know I think he should love you - and he does, of course, in his way -”

“But he’ll never love me the way I love him.” Fedya lets her hand drop and sits back in his chair, looking defeated. Older, somehow. Hélène’s heart fills with pity, a mostly unfamiliar emotion. She finds herself moving forward out of her chair to wrap her arms around him. She practically has to sit in his lap to accomplish it, but she holds him tight, trying to convey her love and comfort. Fedya’s hand comes to rest on her back, gentle.

“It’s alright, mon cher.” He says softly, as if he is the one comforting her. “I always knew what I was getting myself into.”

“Oh ho! Are you two hooking up at last? Don’t let me interrupt.” An amused voice booms, Anatole entering the room. His hair is still wet but he’s impeccably dressed. Hélène pulls away from Fedya, returning quickly to her seat.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Tolya. Fedya and I are like siblings.”

“Bah. I am always hoping you will join our family officially, Fedya, and there is no one else I would trust with my sister’s hand.” Anatole sighs and throws himself into a chair, somehow  
managing to land in an elegant position. “But you two keep disappointing me!”

“You can’t force love.” Fedya says, and there is only a hint of bitterness in his tone. Hélène sighs.

“A shame.” Anatole says flippantly. “It’s been ages since Hélène’s last paramor. Are you joining a convent or something, sister?”

“Hardly. I just haven’t found anyone worth my time.”

“Or you’re spending too much time with your roommate. No one will think you’re available with her tagging along! You know, I saw you two dancing.”

“I had no desire to find anyone last night, Tolya. It doesn’t matter.”

“Well, alright then, as you say. Now - have we discussed costumes for the party? I need to decide what would be most dashing…”

\--

“I can’t believe I let you pick out my costume.”

“Me either. This is the best night of my life.”

“I’m not wearing this.”

“Oh yes, yes you are. You have no other alternatives and I absolutely refused to be denied this pleasure.”

“Hélène, you have to behave at this party. I’m annoyed enough Natasha is going to this thing, you’re not going to make it worse by letting her know about us.”

“Find, I’ll keep my hands to myself. But you’re not allowed to take this off. Well, not yet.” Hélène grins and moves closer to Marya, running a hand over the glittery red fabric currently functioning as Marya’s second skin. “Actually, I think I’d like to try and take this dress off with my teeth tonight, what do you say?”

Marya groans, but she can’t deny it’s absolutely something she’d like for Hélène to try. It’s just not appropriate right now. Sonya and Natasha are on their way over to accompany them to the party. They don’t have time for that kind of talk. 

“I can’t believe that you are wearing a less revealing costume than me.”

“You’re wearing a full length dress!”

“Yes, a skintight full length dress with a slit up the thigh. When you said ‘cartoon character’ I really thought you’d actually decided on something wholesome.”

“Ah, good old Jessica Rabbit, subverting the tropes. Anyway, I could put on something more sexy, if you’d like…”

“No, no, that will absolutely not be necessary.”

“Sure, I’ll dress up for you later then, in private.” Hélène winks. Marya is certain this woman will drive her mad, and it’s only gotten worse since they slept together. Instead of obsessively wondering what it would be like, she knows in excruciating details what Hélène looks like naked and wanting, the all-consuming way she makes love. They’ve been like lovers on their honeymoon, taking every opportunity to return to bed. It’s distracting and consuming. But like any fire, Marya is sure it will burn out eventually. Surely one day she’ll be able to go through a full day without desperately wishing to bury her head between Hélène Kuragina’s thighs. Surely.

“What am I going to do with you?” Marya says, and immediately regrets her word choice. Hélène’s answering smirk lights up her whole face, and she presses in close. The beads of her flapper dress poke Marya’s skin where it’s exposed, but she finds she doesn’t mind.

“I have a few suggestions, but I wouldn’t want you to mess up that glorious mane of yours.” Hélène does lean up for a kiss, though, and Marya meets her lips halfway. It will have to tide her over for the night.

“Are you serious?!” The front door shuts loudly, and Hélène and Marya break apart to once again find Sonya staring them down. She’s not flushed or shocked this time, however, but instead manages to look a bit like a riled up cat.The cat ears she’s wearing do accent the mental image, but Marya has always been inclined to think of Sonya as quite kittenish, soft but often unexpectedly fierce.

Hélène laughs as Sonya’s expression, looking up at them both beneath furrowed brows and a stern frown Marya is fairly certain she learned from Marya herself. 

“You are lucky Natasha saw a dog outside and stopped to say hi, or that would have been her walking in on you two! Do you have no discretion? Do you want her to find out and pester you for the rest of the evening, nay, the week? Do you understand how door locks work? I’m concerned.”

“I thought you enjoyed the show last time.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, Hélène, I don’t want to kiss you. Just - some girl. Maybe. Some day. That’s not the point!”

“Alright, ouch, but - sure.” Hélène shrugs a shoulder. “Sorry, really. But just look at Masha, how could I resist?”

“Oh my God, just lock the door next time.” Sonya says, exasperated. Marya cannot believe her 20 year old goddaughter has more sense than she does. Where did she go wrong.

“There will be no more incidents of this kind tonight.” Marya assures her. “Right, Hélène?” She fastens Hélène with a stern look, and the woman nods.

“Great.”

Just then the front door clicks open again, and Natasha sweeps into the room. She’s dressed all in white, like a princess, with feather wings attached to her back.

“Sonya, I cannot believe you didn’t stop. What a sweet puppy!”

“I’m more of a cat person.” Sonya says, tapping the headband she’s wearing with a wry smirk.

“Oh, Marya! You look incredible!” Natasha gushes, stepping over towards her godmother. “Oh, we have to all get a picture together.”

“Thank you, Natalya. It was all Hélène’s work, if I’m honest.”

“Of course! You look so beautiful, too, Hélène.”

“And you as well, little angel.”

Natasha beams at Hélène, looking so happy that Marya can’t help but smile. A part of her finds herself desperately wanting Natasha and Sonya to love Hélène, and she’s not sure why. It’s not like she’s her actual girlfriend, it shouldn’t matter what Marya’s family thinks. But it does. God, it does.

“We should go. Anatole will be fussy if I’m not there to help host.” Hélène says. As she walks towards the door her fingers brush Marya’s, almost as if her instinct was to take her hand. They’re swimming in such dangerous waters. One day they’re going to forget this is all a clandestine, fleeting affair. One day, Marya thinks, Hélène is going to break her heart. 

Sonya gives her a significant look, and Marya smiles. “It’s alright, Sonyushka.” She murmurs, squeezing her shoulder as she passes her on the way to the door.

Hélène has a car, though she rarely uses it in the city, but it’s useful for trips like this. She lets Marya drive - she says Marya looks like a movie star behind the wheel. Natasha and Sonya squeeze into the backseat, looking happy and carefree. Marya is happy. She has nearly everyone she loves in this one place, and while it should scare her that Hélène is included in that, it feels right.

The drive out to the Kuragin house is too short. She enjoys this time in the car, just the four of them and the wind slipping through the windows, Sonya and Natasha singing along to the radio, Hélène’s laughter like music.

There's a spot reserved for Hélène’s car in the driveway so Marya parks easily. As they all pile out, she turns to Natasha and Sonya. “I’m trusting you two to behave responsibly. No drinking. I don't care if it’s Halloween, you’re still too young and you need to keep your wits about you.”

Sonya nods seriously, but Natasha pouts.

“My first city party, and I can't have even a sip -”

“No.” Marya says firmly. “If you want to drink, you will do it in moderation and under my direct supervision, safe in our apartment. Not in a giant house surrounded by strangers where I might lose track of you.”

Sonya takes Natasha’s arm in hers. “It will be fun enough without alcohol. In fact, i’m sure we’ll enjoy it more. Think of all the costumes, Natasha.”

Natasha smiles. She’s always quick to smile, it’s one of the dearest things about her. 

Hélène’s hand grasps Marya’s elbow, and when she turns to her, Hélène’s smile just compounds the happiness in Marya’s heart. 

“Let’s go, then, Masha, if you’re done lecturing the girls.” She teases, and Marya shakes her head, but allows Hélène lead them towards the door. “We can at least get some of the best vodka before it’s gone.”

“I’m not sure if I should drink tonight, if i’m watching the girls.”

“They’re adults. You don't have to babysit them.” Hélène unlocks the door and swings it open, ushering them all into the foyer and towards the stairs. “You should have fun tonight too.”

Marya presses her lips together, but nods. One drink won’t hurt.

Hélène leads them into what is possibly a living room, or perhaps a small ballroom. It’s twice the size of their apartment alone, filled with decorations and tables of food and drink. Music is playing lightly in the background. Marya is pleased to find that Anatole is absent, for now. She has no desire to interact with him.

“Have fun, girls. The adults are off to quench thirsts.” Hélène announces, and abruptly steers Marya towards the drink table in the back of the room. Marya looks back and Natasha gives her a little wave, beaming. Sonya is still looking all around the grand room at the decorations. Marya vows to check in with them soon, but they seem fine for now.

Hélène makes them drinks, and as soon as Marya takes her first sip she can tell it’s 90 percent vodka and maybe 10 percent cranberry juice, if that. Marya arches an eyebrow, which just makes Hélène laugh and reach a fingertip up to trace the eyebrow in question.

“So severe.” She says, softly. “Marya. It’s okay. You’re not responsible for everything.”

“I promised Natasha’s parents I’d look out for her.”

“And do they expect you to sacrifice your own life to do so? Enjoy yourself tonight. You deserve a night off.”

“It’s not about what I deserve.”

“Please. Have fun with me.” Hélène’s hand is gentle on her waist. Marya smiles in response.

“We've been _having fun_ all week. I was late to rehearsal twice.”

Hélène grins, looking proud. “Don't you think this is how life should be lived? Being happy like this…” She trails her hand down to Marya’s hip. “Having fun.”

“Not all the time, Hélène.” Marya says softly, but her tone is gentle, indulgent. “And I thought you promised to keep your hands to yourself.”

“So I did.” Hélène says, but takes a long pause before removing her hand. “It’s so hard not to touch you.” She says, looking down at her drink as she speaks, almost like she’s talking to herself. Marya isn't sure she meant to say the words out loud. But they cause her heart to beat a little faster.

“Yeah. I know.” She confesses in return, and Hélène looks up sharply, eyes a little wide. “Really -?”

Marya glances quickly around the room, but sees no one watching them, she can't even spot Sonya and Natasha. It should worry her, but she has more pressing concerns. She cups Hélène’s face in her hands and kisses her, quick but deep. She can feel Hélène’s smile under her lips.

“Fine. One night of fun. But we do have to check in with the girls.”

“Whatever you want.”

Marya sets to her drink with renewed enthusiasm, basking in the way Hélène stares at her. Maybe this costume isn't so bad after all.

\---

Sonya watches Hélène and Marya fold into the crowd and sighs. She is relatively certain they won't be seeing them again tonight, or at least they don't want to. If she believed for a second Hélène or even Marya were able to control themselves than she might not worry, but she doesn't. It won't be long until they're sneaking off upstairs, and it will be Sonya’s job to distract Natasha so she doesn't notice.

Not that Natasha seems at all concerned with her godmother. She’s looking around the room like she’s visiting Harry Potter World for the first time, delighted and enraptured. Sonya has to admit the Kuragin house really is quite grand. She knew Anatole lived off of a healthy trust fund, and even Hélène took occasional “gifts” from their father, but she had no idea the extent of Vassily Kuragin’s wealth. He’s so often back in Russia and the Kuragin siblings never mention him, although the Rostovs have murmured about him once or twice. Sonya can tell they don’t like him, though they’re too nice to stay so outright.

But standing here the economic difference between the Kuragins and the Rostovs is measurable by leagues of space, ornate furniture pushed against walls to make room for the party, and the theatrical quality of the decorations, the lavish food. Sonya and Natasha both have never seen a party like this. It feels very..adult, like attending a ball. It’s a bit exciting, Sonya has to admit. 

“So, Natasha, should we grab something to eat?” Sonya asks her cousin, but Natasha seems distracted. Her cheeks are flushed, even though it is not hot in the room. Sonya follows her line of sight with dread blossoming in her chest. Of course, she spots Anatole Kuragin across the room, dressed in some elaborate attire like the prince from Cinderella. He is looking back at Natasha intently.

Sonya frowns. It’s all on her to put a stop to this, but she’s well aware Natasha won’t listen to her. This may spiral all out of her control before it’s too late. She touches Natasha on the wrist, and her cousin jumps as if startled, turning to her and breaking her gaze with Anatole.

“Oh, Sonya, I’m sorry. Yes, of course let’s check out the food - Hélène told me the chef made lemon cream macarons.”

Sonya nods and begins to lead them towards the table, but she’s stopped when Anatole steps suddenly into their path. She sighs.

“You’re here.” Anatole says, sounding almost breathless, looking directly at Natasha. Natasha flushes.

“Yes, we drove Hélène’s car - it was a lovely ride over. And your house is so beautiful.”

“Thank you, ma cher. It’s a lovely place to come in the summertime - we have a gorgeous pool. You’ll have to visit again. I am sure my sister would be delighted, do you know she is so charmed with you? It’s easy to see why.” Anatole’s smile is dangerous. It’s superficial, somehow, as wide and bright as it is. Sonya’s not sure just what it’s masking, and she doesn’t want to know. She doesn’t want Natasha to find out, either.

“Oh! That’s so kind, really, and Hélène is so...she’s really so lovely. Um, she - she went to get drinks with Marya - if you’re looking for her?”

“No, no. I’ve been waiting for _you_ to arrive.”

“You have?” Natasha looks, surprised, to Sonya. Sonya can’t quite hide a skeptical expression. Luckily, Natasha doesn’t seem to read it quite right. “Oh dear! I’m being so rude. Anatole, you and Sonya haven’t been introduced.”

“Of course, where are my manners?” He holds out a hand, and Sonya takes it, however reluctantly. “You’re Natasha’s cousin, right? You rejected Fedya once. You must be quite a woman, people rarely say no to him.”

“Well, some people ought to hear no more often.” Sonya says significantly, shaking his hand once and then dropping it. “And I’m a lesbian, thank you very much.”

Natasha’s eyes go wide as saucers, and she presses a palm to her chest. “Sonya -”

“Well, that’s very nice.” Anatole says, his smile never wavering. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Sonya. Natasha - I was hoping you might grace me with a dance?”

“Oh, well - here? No one is dancing.”

“That’s why we must be the first! To start the party. Oh, you must help me, especially if Hélène has swanned off with her roommate and left me to host all alone.” 

Natasha looks around, as if expecting Hélène to appear and make her decision for her. She’s nervous in a way Sonya hasn’t seen since Andrey; Natasha is usually so confident that all will like her and she loves to dance and sing in front of people. It makes Sonya nervous to see her doubtful, even a small amount.

“Please, Natasha, I need your help.” Anatole professes, and offers his hand. Natasha seems to melt.

“Of course. I wouldn’t leave you hanging. Sonya - is it alright if we dance? Just for a moment. I’ll be right back at your side before you know it.”

Sonya can do nothing but nod, knowing her protestations will mean nothing if Natasha is already decided. It will only lead to an argument. Natasha smiles and lets Anatole sweep her away towards the center of the room. He makes some gesture with his hand and suddenly the music is louder, swelling in what sounds like a waltz from some haunted mansion. Anatole and Natasha begin to dance. Sonya can’t deny he’s a capable dancer and they dance well together, but that doesn’t mean she has to like it.

She frowns and moves towards the banquet tables. If she has to suffer everyone’s foolish and lust-fueled behavior tonight, she might as well indulge in some desert. Chocolate isn’t a cure-all, but it’s a powerful medicine.

Sonya is reaching for a martini glass full of chocolate mousse when she feels a presence at her side and turns. She’s immediately on the defensive when she recognizes Anatole and Hélène’s friend, and the man she supposedly rejected (though she doesn’t remember this), Fyodor Dolokhov. She always thought he was a talented musician and a fairly gentlemanly sort, but she’ll have to think twice if he’s the type to be best friends with Anatole Kuragin.

“Sonya Rostova?” He greets. His voice is genial and calm, exuding a natural confidence but less of a dramatically charming air than the Kuragins have. He’s dressed as a pirate, thick eyeliner accenting his eyes. There is something soft in the expression of them.

“Yes, that’s me.” She says. “And you’re Fyodor Dolokhov. You play in the orchestra sometimes?”

“So you do recognize me. I wasn’t sure, when I saw you at Hélène’s apartment.”

“Don’t worry, I didn’t remember you asking me out until Anatole helpfully reminded me just now.”

“Ah.” Fyodor looks a bit sheepish. “Well, he makes a big deal out that, but it was not so dramatic. I asked you for your number at a company party and you told me you weren’t comfortable giving it to a near stranger, that’s all.”

Sonya nods, unsure of what to say. Fyodor seems pleasant enough, but she’s worried he’s got some sort of angle here. To keep her distracted? Away from Natasha and Anatole?

“You can call me Fedya, by the way. No one really uses my given name.”

“Mine either. It’s Sofia, actually. But you must call me Sonya.” Sonya smiles, gently. “Sorry. I hope I’m not coming off as rude, I just -” She glances towards the dance floor, where Anatole and Natasha are still dancing. Several other people have joined them. The room looks much fuller than it had minutes ago; Sonya wonders just how many people the Kuragins invited. 

“You’re concerned about your cousin.” Fedya says. “I understand.”

“You - you do?”

“Of course. Anatole is my friend, but I’m not fooling myself as to his reputation.” Fedya sighs. “But trust me, it’s easier to let them both get this out of their system. Anatole is stubborn as a boar.”

“I refuse to just - let her ‘get this out of her system’!” Sonya protests. “Natasha is too trusting. I can’t let anyone take advantage of that.”

“She’s trusting, but she’s taken, isn’t she? She can’t be one of his flings.” Fedya frowns. “I mean, she wouldn’t -?”

“She wouldn’t.” Sonya says quickly, firmly, willing herself to believe it. “You know, I’m surprised at you.”

“And why is that?”

“I would have thought you’d be - supporting him, in all his follies. You’re his best friend, aren’t you supposed to be his wingman, or whatever...brocode says?” Sonya says this with distaste, lip wrinkled up slightly.

“I have a mind of my own, you know.” Fedya tells her, but he smiles. “I won’t say I haven’t had my share of flings and my share of participation in a few foolhardy schemes, but Anatole… I don’t like watching my friend be so careless.”

Sonya narrows her eyes, carefully considering Fedya’s expression. It’s guarded, but there’s something more than casual dislike for Anatole’s proclivities. His eyes linger on the dancing couple just a moment too long and he can’t hold on to his jovial smile completely. Suddenly, it clicks for Sonya.

“Oh my God, you are all a mess.” She blurts, unable to stop herself. She’s sort of at the end of her rope already covering for Marya and Hélène’s secret affair, and she’s not sure she can take another person who’s pining so obviously it’s become patently ridiculous for them to not admit how they feel.

“I - pardon me?” Fedya looks confused, and Sonya sighs.

“You’re in love with that? Really?” Sonya says, and Fedya’s expression shifts to alarm. He moves closer to her, grasping her wrist, shushing her.

“Sonya, please. Our friends are all around -”

“I’m sure they already know, I just took one look and -”

“Please. It’s - it’s complicated. Anatole doesn’t know.”

“Of course he doesn’t.” Sonya gently removes her wrist from Fedya’s grasp. “I’m sure that man wouldn’t see a leprechaun leap across his path in broad daylight if there was a mirror he could preen in nearby.”

“He’s not as bad as you think, Sonya.” Fedya says, voice soft. “He’s joyous, and passionate, and cheerful - he’ll never let a friend be sad for more than a moment in his presence. He’s - he’s struggled to be truly compassionate, it’s true, and he can be quite vain but...he and Hélène had unusual childhoods. I know they seem quite capricious, but the Kuragins...they have trouble expressing their emotions properly.”

Sonya presses her lips together, contemplating what Fedya has shared with her. She’s not sure what’s made him open up to someone he doesn’t know very well, but perhaps it’s hard when your closest confidante is the sister of the man you’re in love with.

“I just. Have a bad feeling about all of this.”

“You and me both.” He sighs. “Listen. I’ll steal us a bottle of wine and let’s go chat on the balcony. I feel like we could both use a sounding board right now.”

“Marya forbade us from drinking -”

“You and I both know she and Hélène are well on their way upstairs by now, and may very well spend the rest of the night locked in Hélène’s old bedroom.”

Sonya raises an eyebrow. She’s hardly surprised Fedya knows as well, it’s not like Hélène and Marya are at all discreet. “Well, that’s if they remember to lock the damn door.”

Fedya laughs. “Well, there is that. But I’m certain they’ll be out of your hair if you want a drink. If you don’t, I can grab us some sodas instead?”

“No, that’s alright, I don’t mind the wine. I just don’t want to catch Marya’s wrath.” Sonya shakes her head. “But you’re right, there’s no way Hélène actually stuck to her promise to behave tonight. She put Marya in a Jessica Rabbit dress.”

Fedya nods significantly. “Come on, then. We’ve no chance of dragging Natasha and Anatole away from each other tonight, and just sitting here watching them will make us both bored and miserable.”

Sonya glances at her cousin. Her smile is bright as Anatole sweeps her across the floor. Perhaps it’s true she’s just having a little fun, and in the morning will remain as devoted to Andrey as ever, constantly filled with talk of missing him. Sonya wants that to be true but she’s scared. She wants, in her heart, to stand here and watch over Natasha. To protect her and keep her from any harm or heartbreak. Sonya wonders if she’s just being dramatic and over-protective. She’s so used to the example Marya sets, stern and slightly overbearing, that it’s become somewhat normal for her. Is it really healthy, for her or for Natasha? Natasha is an adult, she’s allowed to dance with anyone she pleases, but…

“I can see the debate going on in your head.” Fedya interrupts her train of thought. “We can see them from the balcony, if you’re really worried. We’ll make sure they don’t leave the living room.”

“Okay. Yeah, let’s - honestly, I could use a drink.”

“I understand.” Fedya leads her over to another table where he swipes a bottle of opened wine. He then cuts across the room and takes Sonya out two glass doors onto a wide balcony. The fall air bites at Sonya’s cheeks, but she welcomes it, enjoying the way the breeze ruffles her hair. She’s always enjoyed the cold. She walks over to the railing, looking out over the grounds of the Kuragins’ estate. Even in the dark, she can see they’re beautifully crafted. How she would love to have a garden like this some day.

“Are you cold?” Fedya asks, leaning against the railing beside her. “I can lend you my, uh, pirate trenchcoat? I don’t know what they call this thing.”

Sonya shakes her head, smiling. “No, I’m fine. I like it.” 

Fedya pulls out the bottle’s cork and takes a long gulp, impressively managing to not get a single drop in his beard. “You know, it’s absolutely a strange feeling, when you realize you’re being a complete fool but can’t stop. Don’t judge Marya and Hélène too harshly. When they say love makes you crazy...it’s an understatement.”

“Yeah, I can tell.” Sonya takes the bottle from Fedya’s hand and takes a more delicate sip. It’s expensive wine, that much she can tell, but she wasn’t expecting anything else from this party. “I’m just baffled. They love each other but they’re absurdly pretending that it’s just some sort of temporary secret rendezvous. Is love really always like that?”

“I hope not. So you think Marya loves her back?”

“I know she does.”

Fedya smiles, a warm and pleased expression. “I’m happy to hear it. Hélène deserves that. She doesn’t think she does, but after everything she’s been through... and how much she’s grown this year...I’d like to see her happy.”

“You think this has a happy ending? When they won’t tell each other how they feel? Someone’s going to get hurt.”

“Something’s going to give eventually. I have to hope they’ll admit it.” 

“I don’t know if they’ll ever be anything close to a functional couple, if I’m honest. But I guess...I don’t know anything about love. I’ve never loved anyone, and no one’s ever loved me, either.” Sonya takes another sip of the wine, longer this time, and then passes it back to Fedya. 

“Someone will love you.” He says, and the unexpected sincerity in his voice almost startles her. “I’m sure of that, Sonya. Someone will love you as though you are their whole world.”

“I don’t know, Fedya, I’ve always been on the sidelines of someone else’s life - I’m not sure I’m meant for any epic romance. It would be enough to have someone’s hand to hold, though. Some day.”

Fedya frowns at her, a sad look in his eye. Before Sonya knows it he is leaning forward, and then his lips are gently pressed to hers. She jerks back, a hand on his chest to hold him back from any potential second attempt.

“Oh - God - no, Fedya, I’m gay.” Sonya says quickly. “I mean, that just - confirms. I am, very gay.”

“Gracious, I’m sorry - I shouldn’t have done that.” Fedya says apologetically. “I, just, it was feeling pretty morose. I thought we might both need…”

Sonya shakes her head, vigorously. “No. No, we should stick to the wine.”

“Uh, yes. I agree.” Fedya looks a bit embarrassed. “Please don’t tell Anatole, he will never let it go that you rejected me twice.”

“It’s not you, Fedya, I’m just -”

“Gay. Yes.” He smiles, looking down at the bottle in his hand. “And I’m in love with another. It would have been foolish of me either way, I just thought...well, if anyone could cure me of a bad love, it would be you, Sonya.”

Sonya can’t help but smile, the smallest twitch at the corner of her mouth. The warmth of a newly formed friendship, and the kindness of a gentle truth from the heart, flows through her. She takes Fedya’s free hand in hers. “That is very kind of you, Fedya. I really hope you find happiness, whether it’s with Anatole or someone new.”

“Thank you, Sonya. I wish the same for you.”

They share another smile, a look of compatriots who are in understanding of one another in this exact moment, and return to looking at the sky, passing the bottle between them. It’s a quiet night, just the sort of thing Sonya prefers to a party. She makes sure to keep an eye on Natasha through the window. She is by Anatole’s side all night, but they do no more than dance and eat and chat together. After an hour of talking, she knows the names of Fedya’s sisters and the illustrious story of how he met the Kuragin siblings, and she’s also well past tipsy. She and Fedya come in from the balcony when their skin starts feeling like ice.

Marya and Hélène arrive back into the main room of the party together shortly before midnight, with Hélène’s curls sticking up in all directions and Marya’s lipstick completely erased from her lips. If Sonya wasn’t drunk she’d probably sigh at them, but she’s not trying to attract Marya’s attention. Luckily, her godmother and Hélène both seem plenty drunk themselves, giggling and clinging to one another on the dance floor.

Fedya exchanges a look with her, rolling his eyes. Sonya can’t help but laugh.

Finally, Natasha returns to her side, looking pleased but tired. She takes Sonya’s arm and Sonya feels happy, to have her best friend with her again. “Do you think Marya is too drunk to drive us home? I’m so tired.” Natasha professes, laying her head against Sonya’s shoulder.

“Probably.” Sonya laughs softly. “We could call a cab.”

“Or you could stay here.” Fedya offers on the Kuragins behalf. “They have a million spare rooms.”

Sonya looks across the room to where Anatole is gaily chatting to some other guests of his, and purses her lips skeptically. “I’m not sure…”

“There’s even a room with bunk beds you two could share.”

Natasha lets out a little squeal of delight. “I love that. How sweet and adorable. Like we were children again! Sonya, we should. It would be so expensive for a cab, and neither Marya nor Hélène can drive us back.”

Sonya nods, once again indulging her exuberant cousin.

“I’ll show you to the room, I know where it is...and uh, I’ll let Marya and Hélène know the plan when I get back.” Fedya says, taking one glance across the room and then quickly diverting Natasha’s attention towards the hallway. “This way…” He ushers her with a light touch to her shoulder.

“Oh, I want to say goodnight -”

“No need. You can say good morning, tomorrow!”

Sonya looks towards the dance floor, and is unsurprised to see Marya and Hélène wrapped around one another. They’re not kissing, but it doesn’t exactly look innocent. 

Sonya is definitely going to have to have a talk with them.

For now, she helps Fedya steer Natasha away from the living room and towards the guest room they’ll be borrowing for the night. “Hélène keeps spare clothes in just about every closet, if you need something else to sleep in.” Fedya advises. “And she always orders a huge breakfast for the morning after these parties, so look forward to that. I’ll see you both in the morning.”

“Goodnight, Fedya. Thank you for your help.” Sonya says, and Fedya smiles before ducking out of the room, leaving her alone with Natasha.

When she turns, she finds Natasha with arms crossed over her chest.

“Sonya! What do you mean, you’re a lesbian? Why doesn’t anyone _tell me that they are gay?_ ”

Sonya takes a deep, long-suffering breath.

Perhaps sleep is rather farther away than she thought.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Marya and Helene wake up to a beautiful sunny morning, Sonya needs to have some words with them, and a decision is reached.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do want to warn that this chapter does contain a very brief and fairly vague description of a panic attack. I've drawn a bit from my own experiences here but attempted to write in a very gentle manner. However, if this is something that might upset you, feel free to skip from "she needs to regain control" until "Marya presses her lips together softly and nods" <3

Hélène wakes to strong sunlight streaming in through the bay windows and splashing across the bed. She feels like pulling the covers over her head to block it out and return to sleep, but she’s a bit cocooned by Marya at the moment. The taller woman is pressed to her back, her arms thrown around Hélène’s middle, holding her close. Hélène can’t help but smile. She feels pleasantly warm and safe.

The view from the window is gorgeous, but she knows something even more beautiful. With some effort she twists in the other woman’s arms so she can face her. She raises a hand to Marya’s red-gold hair and brushes it from her face, admiring the way it glows like fire in the morning sunlight, the way it has been left down and wild around her face. Hélène basks in the feeling of their bare skin pressed together, sweet and innocent in this quiet moment.

Marya looks so beautiful it almost makes her believe in god. Any god. Perhaps Aphrodite most of all, the goddess of love and beauty. 

Hélène presses a kiss to Marya’s forehead, allowing herself for a moment the fantasy that they are two lovers sleeping in on a beautiful day in the grand house they bought together. Perhaps later they plan to go to the nearby market, to pick out ingredients for a meal they will both cook. Maybe they’ll open a bottle of their best wine over dinner and hold hands as they eat, no matter how awkward it make twirling spaghetti around a fork. They might laugh and talk well into the evening, and later - just possibly - as the moon is shining and they’ve turned on their favorite album in the background...maybe then Hélène will get down on one knee and pull a ring box from her pocket, and ask Marya for her hand. For her forever.

In this fantasy, anyway. That’s what she’d do. If she were another Hélène and this were another Marya. One who loved her.

(The ring would have rubies on either side of the diamond. It wouldn’t be a ring for Marya without some splash of red.)

This isn’t that fantasy, but all the same, she is happy. Marya’s eyes blink open just as she’s pulling back from the kiss, and her bleary smile lights up Hélène’s heart.

“Morning.” She says, no more than a whisper, not capable of more.

“Good morning, Elena. Is it morning? It looks closer to afternoon…” Marya says, glancing towards the window. When she looks back to Hélène, her expression is sleepy and tender. It’s a Marya few people get to see. It should be enough for Hélène . She’s wretched enough that she doesn’t deserve even this. But still, she yearns for more. 

“Mmm, perhaps. I’ve only been awake a moment longer than you.”

“Last night was…”

“Yeah. Do you think we set a record?”

“A personal record, or a record for queer women in general? Because it’s definitely the former, and also possibly the latter.”

Hélène laughs, and turns to lay on her back, staring up at the ceiling. She feels Marya shift at her side, and then sees her hair swinging like a curtain as Marya sits up against the headboard. 

“It was a good night. Thank you, Hélène.” 

“No need to thank me - I’m fairly certain I enjoyed it as much as you did.” Hélène grins and watches the way Marya’s lip twitches into a small smile.

“I mean for convincing me to let the night be mine.” Marya elaborates. “I never used to have much fun before you.”

“Well, you were a little uptight.”

“I am trying to have a nice moment here.”

“It’s working. It’s a very nice moment.” Hélène sits up too, pressing their shoulders together. “I’m glad you had a good night. Are you hungry?”

“A little, but the girls will be at breakfast, won’t they? I need to clean up before I see them. And you…” Marya turns to Hélène, tracing a finger over her collarbone. Hélène shivers.

“Ah, yes, your payback. They’re art, really, I hate to cover them up.” Hélène sighs. “Let’s get you in the bath first. We need to untangle your hair from all the hairspray.”

“The bath? I’m not a 19th century aristocrat. A shower will do.”

“Oh, indulge me. The bath is beautiful, and it’s large enough for both of us.”

“...We’ll never make it down to breakfast.”

“Actually, I’m a bit - sore. I really was thinking just a bath.”

Marya laughs, gorgeous and full-bodied. She shifts her body, swinging a leg around to straddle Hélène on the bed, effectively trapping her against the headboard. “Are you telling me the great Hélène Kuragina is actually satisfied and doesn’t want to go another round?”

Hélène’s hands move to rest on Marya’s waist. Her heart thuds against her ribcage. “Well. You could certainly convince me, but…of course I’m satisfied. You always satisfy me.”

Marya laughs again, leaning down to press a kiss to Hélène’s neck. “You say the sweetest things, baby.” She teases. It’s a joke, Hélène knows it’s a joke, but her heart clenches all the same. Oh, what it would be like if Marya casually called her pet names all the time. What it would be like if she was Marya’s.

Hélène slides a hand up the expanse of Marya’s back, content to hold her. She feels the other woman’s lips curve into a smile against her neck before she pulls back.

“Alright, show me this grand bath of yours.” Marya acquiesces, climbing off of Hélène. She stands up right in the patch of sunlight, nearly taking Hélène s breath away as she stretches her arms. Hélène slides out of bed as well, and takes Marya’s hand. “Anyone in the garden can see us from here, you know.” She laughs softly and pulls Marya towards the door of her room. “Luckily the groundskeeper isn’t here on weekends. Here, a robe for the hallway…”

Hélène hands Marya a silky dressing gown of a deep purple, and Marya raises her eyebrow as if to comment on the fact that it’s so short and nearly sheer that it doesn’t do much as an actual cover up. Hélène grins and slips into a grey robe - it has more coverage on her than the taller Marya, but not by much. Hélène doesn’t like to feel encumbered by clothes. 

They slip down the hallway quietly and Hélène ushers Marya into the east wing bathroom. It’s massive and decorated in a style reminiscent of French nobility, with a large claw-foot tub at its center. There is actual gold paint gilding the edges of the tub.

“Your family is ridiculous, I just hope you know this.” Marya informs her, causing Hélène to laugh. 

“So they are. What can I say, the only way my father knows how to cope with the depressing reality of his life and children is to throw money at it.” Hélène jokes, but avoids Marya’s eyes when she sees real pity blossom in them. Hélène doesn’t talk about her father. She may be his favorite, but that doesn’t mean their relationship is good. 

Before Marya can mention it aloud, Hélène strides over to the tub and places the stopper in the drain, deliberately bending forward at the waist.

“You ought to stop being a tease, Elena, if you need a rest.” Marya says in that smooth, low voice of hers that goes straight to Hélène’s core. Hélène flips on the hot water before turning back to face Marya, setting herself gingerly on the edge of the tub.

“Perhaps a little pain is worth it.” She says finally, and she’s not even sure if she’s talking about sex or love. Maybe it’s both. 

Marya approaches her and bends down so she can cup her face, bringing their mouths together for a long kiss, slow and sweet. She catches the corner of Hélène’s mouth as she pulls away, an extra gentle peck. “I wouldn’t want to hurt you.” She says softly, and Hélène’s not exactly sure what she’s referring to, either.

Every day between them has felt more charged, like a storm gathering on the horizon. Hélène can smell the rain in the air, the sense of something big approaching, a force of nature beyond anyone’s control. Whether it’s impending doom or a bountiful shower, that’s yet to be determined. But Hélène knows the secrets of her heart are being laid bare in small pieces every time Marya lays her out and kisses her, every time Marya smiles at her, every fucking time they speak. Eventually Marya will have all the puzzle pieces and she’ll see exactly how Hélène feels about her. She doesn’t know what will happen then. She only hope she’s not entirely swept out to sea.

Hélène nods and turns back to the bath, adding a generous helping of lavender bubble bath from a basket next to the tub. “Will you get a couple of towels? They’re in the closet next to the sink.” She asks Marya, and feels Marya squeeze her shoulder gently as she retreats to retrieve them.

When Marya returns with the towels, she sets them at the foot of the tub. Hélène akes the chance to admire her dressed in royal purple, the deep color gorgeous against her skin and hair. She shuts off the water of the tub when it’s full and carefully tests the temperature with her fingertips. “Alright, robe off.” She orders playfully. Marya cocks an eyebrow but smirks, untying the robe and dropping it where she stands.

“And now?”

“And now, in the tub, you amazonian goddess.” Hélène aughs and reaches out for Marya’s hand, pulling her towards the bath. 

“You said it was big enough to share...” Marya says, looking Hélène up and down. “You can’t go in like that.” Deft fingers reach out to shuck the robe from Hélène’s shoulders. Together they step into the warm waters, carefully negotiating so they can both sit without injuring each other. Their legs are pleasantly tangled. Hélène wishes every morning could be like this.

“I wonder how the girls enjoyed the party.” Marya muses. “I do feel bad we left them to their own devices all night.”

“Marya, I know they love you, but they were probably happy to be young and free for one night.”

“Are you saying I’m old?” Marya smirks, flicking her fingers so a tiny splash of water flies towards Hélène .

“Of course not, ma belle.” Hélène grins and reaches out her hands. “Come here, sit with your back to me so I can wash your hair.”

Marya lets herself be guided into a new position, though it’s a bit awkward getting there despite the tub’s size. She’s laughing as she settles back down, sitting between Hélène ’s legs. Hélène brings her hands up to Marya’s hair, carefully wetting it. She adds shampoo and massages it in gently, taking her time. She loves the way Marya’s eyes close in contentment, her expression serene. Hélène loves that she can give this peace to her.

She spends several minutes pampering Marya before she’s forced to admit her hair is as washed as it can be, and they both attempt to figure out how to rinse out all the shampoo. Eventually, Hélène has to exit the tub to accomplish the task. Once they’re both clean they bundle themselves up in the towels. Hélène takes a spare towel to dry off Marya’s hair, pressed close to her.

It takes them another moment to find suitable clothes for Marya that fit her taller frame, and by the time they both wander down to the dining room “breakfast” is more probably brunch, perhaps even lunch. Still, there’s plenty of food kept fresh by ice and hot plates. 

Hélène spots Natasha and Sonya out on the patio, sitting at a table facing the garden. After she and Marya put together their plates of food, they go outside to join them. It’s a lovely day, only a slight chill in the air that their sweaters guard easily against.

“Girls.” Marya greets warmly, touching a hand to each goddaughter’s cheek in turn. “Have you eaten already? It’s not good to go without breakfast.”

“We woke up hours ago! Where have you two been? We were starting to think you’d taken off in the middle of the night and left without us.” Natasha smiles, shaking her head. She seems none the wiser, but Sonya’s gaze is knowing. Hélène supposes they should have been careful about coming down to breakfast at the same exact time, but Natasha doesn’t seem to find it strange.

“I’m sure they were both sleeping off the vodka.” Sonya says, tone carefully neutral, though there’s the smallest arch to her brow that signals her judgement. A statement like that would likely get her in trouble with Marya if it weren’t true - and if Marya had any high ground to stand on right now. 

“Well, _there_ they are.” A genial voice shouts from the lawn, and Hélène turns to see Fedya approaching them, Anatole trailing behind him. Fedya steps up onto the porch and moves to press a kiss to Hélène’s hair. “You nearly missed breakfast.” He says, and pauses. “Why do you smell of lavender?”

“We’re late because we both took showers.” Marya explains, indicating her wet hair. Hélène can practically see Sonya repress the urge to audibly groan.

“Mm, and not just sleeping in? My sister loves to sleep in. When we were teenagers you’d find her still in bed at one in the afternoon! Like a cat.” 

“I’ve gotten much better about that, thanks to all those cattle-call auditions at 6am when I was in my twenties.” Hélène reminds her brother.

“Anyway, we were about to take Natasha and Sonya on a tour of the grounds.” Anatole says brightly. “Should we wait until we finish breakfast, so you can join us?”

Hélène wrinkles her nose. “No, thank you, I have no desire to attend to such exercise.”

Fedya arches an eyebrow at her, smirking as though he knows exactly why - which he probably does. “But Hélène, you love the gardens. Are your legs tired?”

“Don’t push it, Fedya.”

Her best friend laughs, but lets it drop. 

“I’m going to stay behind, too.” Sonya announces. “I’d like to have another cup of tea, and I’m still feeling sleepy.” Natasha pouts at her, but Sonya shakes her head. “Really, Natasha, go ahead without me. Maybe I’ll join you in awhile.”

Marya frowns, watching as Natasha stands and walks to Anatole’s side. “Maybe I should go -”

“I’ll take good care of these two children, don’t you worry. You stay and eat.” Fedya says, and he and Marya exchange a significant look. Hélène knows they don’t know each other very well, but they seem to have an understanding about Anatole and Natasha. She thinks everyone here does, except for the pair in question. Marya eventually nods.

“We’re hardly children.” Anatole protests, but in good humor, throwing an arm around Fedya’s shoulders. Fedya smiles at him, and in his eyes Hélène recognizes a familiar feeling. They are a hopeless bunch.

Fedya, Anatole, and Natasha shuffle off towards the garden path - they’re an odd trio, Hélène can’t deny, but at least she can trust Fedya to reign in any of Anatole’s less prudent impulses towards Natasha. She just hopes the walk won’t be absolutely miserable for him.

She’s just about to stand up to grab some orange juice from the table inside when Sonya’s voice stops her.

“Sit down. We need to talk.”

“Well, nothing good has ever started with those words.”

“Sonya, what is this about?” Marya asks, sitting up straighter. 

“You two. You’re out of control! I don’t know how you expect to keep anything from Natasha or Anatole when you keep practically shoving it in their faces, and I’m already sick of covering for you. Figure it out, or tell her.”

“I thought you agreed we shouldn’t tell Natasha.” Marya says cautiously.

“That was when I thought this was - some weird fling that would burn itself out in a week. But look at you two, you’re worse than ever! You lasted _three minutes_ at the party last night before sneaking away, and by the way, anyone with sense could tell exactly what you were doing because you came down looking like you’d been through a tornado and proceeded to dry hump on the dance floor for half an hour!” Sonya lets out this tirade all in one breath, and when she pauses to take in some air, she holds up a finger to prevent Hélène or Marya from speaking. “I’m not done. You two rarely go anywhere without each other anymore and you’re _constantly_ touching, and _oh my god_ , put your hands on the goddamn table Hélène , or so help me.”

Hélène pulls her hand off of Marya’s thigh, surprised to find herself feeling quite chastised, and lays her palms flat on the table. She doesn’t dare sneak a look at Marya. She feels like she’s been thoroughly lectured in a way that hasn’t happened since she was ten years old, before her mother was gone and discipline fell apart in the household.

“You can’t be discreet. I’m convinced of that. In fact -” Sonya reaches into her bag and pulls out two cell phones. “You left these in the car. Would you like to see the lockscreens?” She presses the home button and the phones light up, both showcasing an identical photo of Marya and Hélène smiling at each other, taken on a sunny morning when they’d gone to Central Park for a yoga class. 

Marya’s jaw is tight, clearly uncomfortable with her goddaughter being the one to dress her down in this way. 

“And what do you propose we tell Natasha, should we say anything?” Hélène asks, looking down at her plate. She doesn’t want to push her luck here, and risk losing Marya, but she feels like she’s close it.

Sonya sighs, sounding frustrated but slightly sympathetic. “I don’t know. I don’t know what’s going on here, but, please. You have to figure this out. _Everyone_ knows except Natasha and Anatole, and despite their obliviousness, eventually they’ll find out too. If you want to tell her this is just some friends with benefits things and deal with her constant pestering, fine, I don’t care. But I’m not going out of my way to keep her from stumbling across your depravity anymore.”

“Depravity. SAT word?”

“Jesus, Hélène, be serious.”

“Sonya’s right, Hélène. We’ve been...indiscreet.” Marya says, the words tight. Hélène feels her stomach hollow out. They were so happy this morning, so relaxed. And now she feels like she’s not even allowed to take Marya’s hand. Like Marya is ashamed of her. “We need to set up some boundaries, some rules.”

Sonya looks like this is not quite the solution she was hoping for, but she’s resigned to it. Hélène’s heart feels brittle. She keeps her eyes on her plate.

“Hélène...I know rules aren’t exactly your wheelhouse, but please. We need to have guidelines, because clearly we haven’t been using our sense here. Perhaps if we just - cool it down -”

“And what if we just tell them?” Hélène suggests. The words feel like rocks in her mouth. “What if when they come back from their little walk, we just say, oh - hey - we’re sleeping together and we’re adults, we can do what we want, please don’t pester us about our relationship because it’s _none of your business_?” She’s not sure why she feels anger blooming in her chest. She feels as though she must be on the defensive, to protect whatever is she has with Marya, but all Hélène has ever been good at it is tearing things apart. She will ruin this too. It’s only a matter of time. “Why should we have to use our sense and temper ourselves? Haven’t we been happy?” Hélène stands, unable to sit still any longer. “Fine. Whatever. I’ll keep my hands to myself and we can all be uptight and bored and miserable. Excuse me, I’d like to go - away - now.”

Hélène pushes her chair back roughly and exits the patio, heading down the opposite path that the others took, the one leading down towards a small pond on the edge of their property. She walks fast and she doesn’t look back. She can’t look back.

She needs to be alone. She needs to gather herself and stuff all these nasty emotions back inside the shell she’s so carefully built over the years. She needs to regain control.

She’s in control. She is in control. She has control.

Hélène doesn’t remember the walk, but when she comes to awareness she’s sitting at the edge of the pond. It’s cold by the water but she barely feels it. She barely feels anything but the erratic jump of her heart, the way her breath never seems to be enough to fill her lungs. 

She doesn’t know long she’s sitting here before she hears the crunch of leaves behind her. She doesn’t turn around.

“You forgot shoes.” 

Hélène doesn’t respond. The voice sounds so far away. Gentle hands are sliding a soft blanket around her shoulders. Someone kneels by her side and takes her hand in theirs. 

“Oh, Hélène.”

She breathes. She waits. Time is passing, or it isn’t, she’s not sure. Her eyes are fixated on the water in the pond. She watches the wind blow patterns into its surface, disturbing perfect stillness. She vaguely recognizes the presence at her side, and it’s like a small glimpse of sunshine from the edge of a blackout curtain. It’s a nice break from the endless darkness.

Finally, she can at last take a deep breath. She gasps around a rush of cold air, burning her throat and lungs. Steady hands slide around her shoulders and she can move; she turns her body into Marya’s embrace, throwing her arms tightly around her middle.

“Hélène…” Marya’s voice is so soft. She rubs Hélène ’s back gently as she catches her breath, and Hélène is hit with a rush of gratitude so strong it hurts. After a long moment, she pulls back to meet Marya’s eyes. She sees a world in them. She sees her favorite stars.

“I’m sorry.” She says, but Marya shakes her head.

“You don’t need to apologize. Was it a panic attack?”

“Something like that. I’ve had them on and off since - since mom did...what she did.”

Marya presses her lips softly together and nods, eyes full of sweetness and sympathy. She’s clearly being cautious with her words, not wanting to upset Hélène again.

“Marya, I love you.”

She says it. She can’t help but say it. There is nothing more true in the entire universe. Her entire body has been begging her to make this confession for weeks. Her heart has taken over the reigns, it grips her and compels her to speak. 

Marya looks shocked, frozen. But not angry. Not disgusted. It’s something. It’s better than she expected.

“You - pardon - I think I’ve lost my hearing.”

Hélène cups Marya’s face in her cheeks, kneels in the leaves before her. “I love you, fuck, Marusya, I have loved you for so long.”

“You - me -?”

“Yes.” Hélène says breathlessly. Now that she’s said it, she wants to say it a million times. Her heart flutters endlessly in her chest. “I love you. I’m in love with you. I don’t want us to be a fling, I want more. I want to give you the world. And I know, I’m not - exactly what you’d want. I’m irresponsible and impulsive and somewhere south of pretty fucked up, and I’m not good enough for you, I’m not, I know but I want to try. I want to love you, I want -”

“Stop.” Marya cuts in, and Hélène freezes, dread seizing her heart. “Don’t ever say that about the woman I love.”

It takes Hélène a moment.

Then she feels her heart burst. It is exquisite agony. It’s an entire fucking symphony in her head, it’s the floodgates of heaven opening up, and there’s Marya - there she is, and she loves her. She loves Hélène. Hélène, who always thought she was unlovable.

Hélène practically launches herself at Marya, sending her flying back into the particularly dense patch of dead leaves behind them, and covers Marya’s mouth with her own. She kisses her with all of the passion she can muster, trying to express even a quarter of the happiness she is feeling.

They’re both laughing when they break apart, laying together in a pile of leaves with a blanket tangled between them. Hélène braces herself over Marya, grinning down at her. “You look like an angel.” She murmurs, and Marya laughs softly.

“Don’t be ridiculous. I look like a grown woman who just took a shower and yet somehow finds herself in the dirt and leaves.” Marya says, but her lips are curved into an infectious sort of grin, bright and steady as sunshine.

“That’s what you get for loving me.” Hélène says, the words flowing out of her like water. She would like to tell the entire world how she feels - and how Marya feels. This woman, this woman, loves her.

“I’m happy to get a little dirty for you.”

“Just a little?” Hélène arches and eyebrow and sits up, straddling Marya’s lap. She tosses her curls out of her face by throwing her head back, a move she knows makes her look particularly alluring. She appreciates the way Marya’s gaze grows a bit hungry, even as they both laugh.

“Well, more than a little. But you know what I’d really like to do right now?”

“What’s that, lover?”

“I’d like to ask you to be my girlfriend.”

Hélène’s heart thunders in her chest. Anatomically it isn’t possible, but it may as well have leapt out from behind her breastbone and flung itself at Marya, screaming ‘take me I’m yours’ the entire way. She has never been this happy. She did not think she could be this happy.

“I mean, don’t you think we’re moving a bit fast?” Hélène jokes, unable to stop smiling. “I think we should just stick to casual things, like living together and waking up in each other’s bed after a night of wild sex. Very lowkey.”

Marya hums as if considering it, then shakes her head side to side. “No, I cannot possibly live another second without calling you my girlfriend. I’m ready to commit here, baby. Take me or leave me -”

“Look, too many Rent references might be a dealbreaker -”

“Hélène.” Marya’s expression is soft, but serious. “Do you want to be my girlfriend? My serious, committed girlfriend?”

“Marya, I want nothing more.”

“Good. Now get off of me so we can go tell everyone.”

Pride and joy flow through Hélène; Marya wants to tell people about them - about her. She feels foolish and young and free. She feels like giggling and blushing. Hélène moves off of Marya and stands, holding out a hand to help the other woman to her feet. Once Marya is up, they stand close together, fingers interlocked. Hélène could live in this moment, just looking at Marya.

“So you’re gonna tell everyone you’re my girlfriend?” Hélène says, beaming, leaning up to brush her nose against Marya’s.

“I’m going to tell everyone you’re mine. My Hélène.” Marya says softly; the words slip smoothly into Hélène’s bloodstream, warming every inch of her. If she didn’t know any better, she’d swear she was about to take off and fly. Just to be sure, she puts her arms about Marya’s waist, holding on tight to stay grounded.

“I really never thought you could love me.” Hélène admits. She’s reaching through her ribcage through the dark and cavernous mess in her chest, tearing through stitches and cemented cinderblocks and a million messy barricades, pulling herself and her heart open so that Marya can see all the cracks and faults in her facade. So she can see through to all of Hélène’s ugly truths and vulnerabilities. In this way she can be Marya’s completely, without reservations and without pretending. “There’s a lot of...ugliness in me, Marya. I’ve done a lot of shitty stuff and I’ve made selfish choices and I’ve been cold and cruel - but I’ve been trying to survive for so long on this emptiness…” She pauses, taking in a deep breath. “I just want you to know who I’ve been. But you’ve changed me, Marya, and I like to think I’ve been better. I don’t know if I’ll ever be as good as you are, but -”

“Shh.” Marya presses a kiss to Hélène’s forehead. “I know who you were and I know who you are. Every step you’ve made to be better has been yours - and I think you’re incredible. Hélène, how could you not see that I love you? You’ve made my every day brighter and more filled with laughter. I see so much strength in you.” She reaches out, brushing a curl behind Hélène’s ear. Hélène almost wants to cry - but it’s a sweet sort of agony, the depths of her feelings. The tender way Marya is handling Hélène’s soft, soft heart, which hasn’t seen the sun in so long. And now, to be exposed to light like this - it’s like waking up for the first time.

She wants to marry this woman.

“So are we agreed? Can I go and tell everyone that you are mine?” Marya asks, the sweetest smile on her face. Hélène nods, and lets Marya take her hand and guide them back up the path. They stumble a bit because they’re walking so fast, and when they arrive at the patio Hélène finally notices the leaves stuck in Marya’s hair, a pattern of autumn in wet auburn curls. Sonya is the only one still on the porch, drinking a cup of tea and looking unimpressed.

“If you two seriously just went off to have sex in the garden, I swear…”

“We didn’t, but that is an idea. I’ve kind of always loved the idea of outdoor sex, surrounded by flowers…” Hélène muses, making Marya laugh.

“Hold yourself back for one second, will you?” She asks, turning to Hélène. Hélène can’t help but lean forward to kiss her, smiling into it.

“So, uh, you all didn’t hear a thing I said to you about discretion, didn’t you?” 

“Actually, there will be no need for discretion anymore, Sonya.” Marya says, attempting a serious facade, though her smile is peaking through. “Hélène and I talked, and we’ve decided that our relationship is a committed and serious romantic endeavor. We’re planning to tell everyone when they return that we are girlfriends.”

Sonya leaps up from her chair, a sudden grin replacing her stern expression. “Thank the fucking gay gods.” She says, and her excited expression makes her look even younger than her twenty years. She moves forward and throws an arm around both of them. “This is great news. Natasha will be so happy, and you’ll both be happy, and you’ll probably also be disgustingly public and possibly quite inappropriate with your affection, and maybe there are some downsides here but hey maybe I’ll just send you daily text reminders about locking doors and it will be fine.” 

She releases them both with a kind smile. “You’re both still ridiculous, though.”

“Yes, we are...fully aware.” Marya says, shaking her head, looking amused.

“Also you look like a tree dropped its entire stock of leaves in your hair, Marya.”

“Yes, thank you, Sonuyshka.”

Hélène can’t help but feel a strong sense of anticipation, nerves making her fingers twitch. This will hardly be a surprise to Fedya, and she knows Natasha will be happy for them, but how will her brother react? She’s never had a serious relationship their whole lives other than Pierre, and Anatole and Pierre were already good friends. She’s not sure Anatole is even capable of taking this seriously or understanding its importance to her, but she wants him to. She needs him to. They’ve always been close, and she wants to share this happiness with him.

“Here they come.” Sonya points out, and Hélène and Marya turn to face the garden path. Natasha is just emerging from the hedges, looking bright and happy. Anatole follows close behind her in his jaunty way, smiling at something she’s said, and Hélène recognizes the flirtatious glint in his expression. Fedya is a few steps behind, looking slightly bored.

They make their way over to the patio, Natasha practically skipping up to her godmother. “Marya, what have you done to your hair? You only just washed it.” She laughs, reaching up to pull a few leaves from the messy strands. Marya laughs, looking at her with a dear expression and pressing a hand to her cheek.

“It’s alright, Natasha, I’ll take care of it later. We actually have something we’d like to tell you - all of you.”

“Is it that you just got back from the Land of Oz and lost your ruby red slippers?” Fedya asks, eyeing Hélène’s bare and dirt-caked feet significantly. Hélène pushes his shoulder playfully.

“No, Fedya, be serious. It’s important.” She says. She turns to Marya and reaches for her hand, needing that anchor, that reassurance. She’s not sure she’s ever going to be able to survive without Marya again.

Marya turns to her and her eyes are so tender it lightens Hélène’s nerves. She laces her fingers through Hélène’s. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Natasha clasp her hands to her chest, a delighted grin curving her lips.

“Marya!”

“Hélène and I -”

“Oh, Marya!” Natasha looks so happy, bouncing up on her toes, that Hélène can’t help but laugh. She catches Fedya’s eye and he’s grinning too, looking almost proud.

“Natasha, please, let me say it -”

“Mm, yes, I’m dying to hear her admit it. Then she can’t escape.” Hélène teases, and feels Marya squeeze her hand.

“Hélène and I are together.” Marya says finally, standing tall and prideful. 

“Together?” Anatole’s voice cuts in, surprise evident. “Together as in -?”

“My girlfriend.” The words fly from Hélène’s mouth, happy and quick as little birds. “Marya Dmitryevna is my girlfriend.”

Marya flashes her a grin, and Hélène can’t do anything but kiss her, throwing her arms around her neck. When they part she gazes at her happily until she’s swept away by Fedya, who hoists her in his arms and picks her up, spinning her around. She lets out peal of delighted laughter.

“I’m so happy for you.” He says as he lowers her to the ground, hugging her tight. He then drops his voice so only she can hear. “You deserve this, Hélène. Be happy, soeur de mon coeur.”

“Thank you, Fedya.” She says, placing a hand over his heart. She turns to Anatole and smiles at him, hoping he will show the same exuberance as Fedya. He is smiling as well, but in a bemused sort of way. He raises an eyebrow at her.

“Well, I did not see this coming, sweet sister.” He says, offering her his hand. When she takes it, he pulls her into a hug. “You make a gorgeous couple.” He breaks the hug but holds her by her shoulders so he can look down at her. “This isn’t like you at all. What’s Dmitriyevna done with my freewheeling big sister, eh?”

“She’s made me happy.” Hélène says, and though Anatole’s eyes narrow slightly as if he doesn’t quite get it, he nods.

“Well, that’s all I need to know. Unless I’m supposed to give some kind of brotherly warning talk here? Really, I think Fedya would be better at that, if it’s necessary.”

“It’s definitely not.” Hélène says quickly. When she turns to Fedya, he is approaching Marya, but instead of giving any kind of lecture about breaking Hélène ’s heart he envelopes Marya in a giant bear hug. Her eyes are slightly alarmed but she’s smiling, and Natasha giggles next to them. It’s a sweet scene.

Natasha turns to Sonya, who is standing quietly by with a happy smile and hands clasped in front of her. “Isn’t this wonderful?” She professes. “You remember how I thought it was them, and it’s true! It’s perfect! And you had no idea, you thought it wasn’t possible.”

Sonya lets out a little laugh, lips pressing together as if she’s trying to subdue it. “Yes, Natasha. It’s perfect.” She catches Hélène’s eye, and Hélène winks at her, before sweeping back to Marya’s side.

“You know, I think you ought to take me out on a date now, Masha.” She says, bumping her hip into Marya’s leg. Marya smirks.

“Oh, don’t turn high maintenance on me now.”

“One date with my lady is all I ask.”

“You two should come to my first performance!” Natasha enthuses. “I make my debut with the company Friday night. I know you were going to attend anyway, Marya, but it would mean so much to me if you both came. Please, please come.”

“Well, what do you say? Can I take you to the ballet, sweetheart?”

“I’ll think about if you wear something tight and low cut.”

“Not in front of the kids, dear.”

She can practically feel Sonya rolling her eyes. She can hear Fedya laughing. Marya’s eyes are glowing and so, so blue, like the purest drink of water Hélène has been denied her whole life.

It’s perfect.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which things fall apart.

Sonya’s not going on in the ballet tonight, as she’s in rehearsals for the next company production, but she’s still made her way backstage. She wants to be there to support Natasha. She knows how absolutely thrilling and terrifying it is to make your debut on the company’s mainstage, and Natasha is probably quite nervous. Sonya’s brought along a bouquet of her favorite flowers to help brighten her station in the corps dressing room, along with a small gift from Marya and Hélène - an expensive blend of Marya’s favorite herbal tea, for calming the mind. The two lovebirds are already in their front row seats (a front row seat is always reserved for the Great Dragon of the ballet).  
  
Girls in tutus run past Sonya in the narrow hallway, laughing as they go, nearly tripping over the untied ribbons on their pointe shoes. She stops one of them with a hand to her arm.

“Is Natasha still in the dressing room?”

“Oh, I think so - we got our five minute call, though, she should leave soon.” The girl says, flashing a smile at Sonya before running off to join the other girls scurrying towards the stage.

Sonya moves a bit quicker now, with the intent to quickly congratulate Natasha and then send her on her way. Her cousin would never forgive herself if she were late to her debut.

She pushes open the dressing room door and it swings wide. Sonya hears a gasp before her eyes adjust, and then she’s confronted with the sight of Natasha flinging herself halfway across the room in a flurry of white tulle. Sonya’s heart drops. Because she’s quite clearly just flung herself off of Anatole Kuragin, who lounges with his shirt open and back pressed against a mirror as though this was all quite casual and normal. He has lipstick on his cheek.

“I am. Absolutely done. Walking in on this kind of shit!” Sonya says, suddenly furious. How dare Anatole do this. How dare Natasha be so foolish as to succumb to his charms. How dare he be here, now, on what is supposed to be a special night. “Get out, Kuragin.”

“Sonya -” Natasha begins, but Sonya glares at her, effectively cutting her off. She rounds back on Anatole, ready to physically drag him out if she has to.

“No. Get out now. You shouldn’t be here.”

Anatole holds his hands up in the gesture of universal surrender, but he’s smiling as he walks out. Sonya slams the door behind him.

“Sonya, you didn’t need to kick him out!”

“Someone had to! Natasha, this is foolish! Making out with Anatole Kuragin? Here? Or at all, for that matter?”

“Well, we got carried away, but, Sonya -”

“And what about Andrey?”

Natasha draws into herself a bit, but her chest puffs up, a righteous sort of expression on her face. “What about Andrey? He never calls, or skypes, he e-mails me once a month -”

“And so it’s just over with him? You’ve loved him for a year, Natasha, and you knew long distance would be hard!”

“But he doesn’t love me anymore! If he did, he would try! He would be here. And he isn’t. Anatole is here for me -”

“You think you can trust him? You really think -”

“He loves me. He told me so.”

“Oh, he told you so.” Sonya bites out, irrationally angry at her younger cousin for being so naive. She feels like she’s failed some vital test, here, some tenant of best friendship and family bonds that should have made sure she prevented this. “And has he asked you to be his girlfriend?”

“No, not - yet - but we have to wait until Andrey responds to my e-mail, anyway.”

“You sent Andrey a _break up e-mail_?”

“He won’t answer when I call and he doesn’t call me. I can’t wait to be with Anatole, I can’t think about anything else! What am I supposed to do, Sonya, what do I do?” Natasha strides forward and takes Sonya’s hands. “You don’t understand. It never felt like this with Andrey. I love Anatole, really I do. Oh, Sonya, please. My cousin, my friend - you have to understand. I’m so happy. It scares me how happy I am.”

“Don’t take that sweet tone with me, Natasha. Please tell me you haven’t let this go too far.”

“It’s over and done with Andrey.”

“That’s not what I mean. Natasha, tell me you haven’t slept with him.”

“I - Sonya -” Natasha is blushing furiously and won’t meet Sonya’s eyes. Sonya’s stomach drops. It’s too late, she’s too late.

“Natasha, no…” She says sadly, and Natasha’s jaw clenches in response.

“It’s not your business who I sleep with!” She says indignantly, dropping Sonya’s hands. “Why can’t you just be happy for me?”

“Because he’s made you his secret plaything, like he always does, and I don’t trust him!”

“You don’t know a thing about him, or me, Sonya. You’re being unreasonable.”

“And if he breaks your heart! If he won’t stay with you, if all he wanted was - was that - what then, Natasha?”

“Then it will be my problem and not yours! God, Sonya, you’re so … self-righteous! What do you know of love, anyway?”

Sonya balks, as if she’s been slapped.

The one-minute call for the corps comes over the intercom, and Natasha sighs. “I have to go.” Sonya reaches for her arm, but Natasha jerks it away roughly. “Don’t. I don’t have time for this, Sonya. You can either support me or leave. I have to go to stage now. Goodbye.”

With that Natasha is out the door, leaving Sonya feeling hollow and lost. What can she do to save Natasha now? Andrey already rejected, Natasha enraptured with Anatole and lost to him? She’s failed at protecting Natasha’s heart. And who is she supposed to ask for help? Fedya Dolokhov, in love with Anatole and probably unwilling to truly stop him? Marya and Hélène, so wrapped up in each other they have trouble surfacing for air, and Hélène being Anatole’s sister? No. This is on her shoulders.

Sonya doesn’t know what to do, or if there’s anything she can do. But she’ll be here for Natasha, when her cousin comes back to her. When she comes back to her senses. She will be by Natasha’s side. She has to be.

\--

Hélène has a performance tonight, so Marya has the house to herself. Just months ago this would have been a cause for celebration and an opportunity to scrub the place clean, but tonight she just misses her girlfriend. Their first date two nights ago was perfect. Natasha performed wonderfully, and Hélène looked stunning in emerald green. Marya felt like royalty, holding her hand as the curtain rose. They were photographed in front of the theatre for the opening night press junket, and Hélène found their photo online the next day. 

“People ship us.” She’d said, grinning and showing Marya the article. It was titled 'The Great Dragon of Ballet and Off-Broadway’s Most Promising Star of the Year: the New LGBT Power Couple?' And admittedly, it was quite flattering and exciting. But the only validation she’d needed was from Hélène herself.

It had been a perfect night. And all she wanted was more perfect nights, one right after the next. But life had to set in - her daytime sessions leading classes and rehearsals for the company, Hélène’s afternoon rehearsals and performances at night.

She stretches out on the couch with a cup of tea and a book she’s been neglecting, but she can’t invest herself in either thing, even when she adds a generous helping of rum to the tea cup. Marya abandons the book and pulls out her phone, scrolling idly through the contacts for someone to distract her from being that woman who just waits around for her girlfriend. Eventually, she spots Pierre’s name, and abruptly realizes that in all the excitement they’ve completely forgotten to tell him about Marya and Hélène’s relationship development. As a particularly invested party - Marya’s oldest friend, and Hélène’s ex-turned-friend, Marya figures he ought to know before Anatole carelessly blabs it and Pierre’s feelings are hurt.

**Marya:** Pierre, old friend. I have something I must share with you.

**Pierre:** You all act like I don’t go online, ever. I think I need to repeat: I’m not even older than you, Marya. I’m only a year older than Hélène.

**Marya:** I apologize?

**Pierre:** Thank you.

**Pierre:** I saw the article, my friend. I was just waiting for one of you to say something to confirm it.

**Pierre:** And then Hélène sent me a photo of you sleeping, captioned: “this one’s mine!!”, so.

**Marya:** She...did...what?

**Pierre:** It was tasteful, don’t worry.

**Marya:** Please tell me it wasn’t in a group message, at least.

**Pierre:** ...I can’t tell you that. 

**Marya:** I probably should have seen this coming.

**Pierre:** You definitely should have. When we were dating, she sent Anatole and Fedya a picture of me in a hot tub captioned with some very inappropriate emojis.

**Pierre:** Uh, pretty sure she’s not that bad anymore.

**Pierre:** There were zero emojis in her text about you. Sidenote, when did you get that tattoo on your back?

**Marya:** I’m confiscating her phone.

**Pierre:** Good luck with that.

**Pierre:** I’m happy for you, Marya. I’m happy for both of you. I hope to have what you two do, some day.

**Marya:** Thank you, Pierre. I believe you will, old friend. It’s only a matter of time.

**Pierre:** Have a good night, Masha.

Marya is about to text a final goodnight to Pierre when there is a loud pounding at her door, startling her. She jumps up from her seat, throwing her phone on the couch and moving swiftly into the front hall. She hesitates a moment before unlocking the door, until she hears sobbing on the other side. Quickly she unlocks it and throws it open, startled when she sees it’s her youngest goddaughter on the other side, tears and mascara running down her face.

Natasha throws herself at Marya, arms wrapping tightly around her waist. Marya’s hands go immediately to pull her close, providing what comfort she can. She feels fear lance her heart, fear for what might have happened, but she remains outwardly calm for Natasha.

“Natalya, my darling, what is it? Come into the living, room, come, sit down…” She half carries her sobbing godchild, lowering her down onto the couch and kneeling before her. “Sweet girl. Talk to me. Have some tea -”

“No, no, I don’t want tea…” Natasha says, taking gasping breaths through her tears. “I want - him - I want him to love me…”

“Andrey? Darling, what has Andrey done - you know he loves you, if you’ve had a fight I’m sure it’s -”

“Not Andrey.” Natasha says, almost viciously. She wipes at her own face, but it’s useless. Marya reaches for the box of tissues on the coffee table and hands them to Natasha.

“What is going on, Natasha?” Marya says, sternly. It feels like there is a weight pressing down on her chest. It hurts to see her goddaughter so bereft, and she feels a familiar rage flare up in her, directed at whoever is responsible for this.

“An-Anatole-” Natasha cries, burying her face in her hands. “I thought he loved me -”

Cold dread seizes Marya. Her expression hardens.

“ _Anatole Kuragin?_ ” She asks incredulously. If her hands weren’t on Natasha’s shoulders, they’d be clenched into fists. 

“He said he loved me, Marya.” Natasha says quietly. “And I love him, so much. More than I’ve ever loved anyone -”

“But Natasha, what of Andrey!”

“Why does everyone _ask_ me that? What should it matter? Andrey is gone, and we are no longer together.”

Marya’s eyes widen. “You broke up with Andrey Bolkonsky. For Anatole Kuragin? What sort of madness has overcome you, girl? What are you _thinking_? We have all told you how dangerous that man is, his reputation -”

“You’re just like Sonya, you don’t know anything, he loved me. I must have done something wrong, I must have -” Natasha breaks off, her breath too shallow to continue speaking. Marya’s heart softens.

“Hush, Natasha, you’ve done nothing wrong.” Marya says, stroking a hand over her hair.

“I did. I must have. I gave him - everything. Why doesn’t he love me anymore?” Natasha asks helplessly. Marya is holding herself back, but she is nearly shaking with the effort. She’s so angry. If she saw that man right now, he’d be lucky to survive.

“Anatole Kuragin is a wretch and a scoundrel, Natasha, you’re not responsible for anything that horrible man does or _feels_ , if indeed he feels anything but selfish vanity -”

“Don’t.” Natasha says, her voice quiet but firm. “Please don’t. He’s not - surely you of all people understand. You’re dating a Kuragin. Many people would say things like that about Hélène, but she’s not that way.”

Marya bites her lower lip, looking down for a moment. “Hélène has changed.”

“And Anatole couldn’t have changed? Hélène is close with him, she invited me to that party and he said he’d asked her to-”

“She invited you to that party for Anatole?” Marya says. It’s like a dagger of ice in her heart.

“He wanted to see me so badly he said he begged her a whole day.” Natasha grabs some of the tissues and begins to wipe her eyes. The crying has stopped, for now, even though Natasha’s breathing is still uneven. “He was sweet, Marya. And so passionate. I don’t understand what went wrong. It’s as though he just - got bored of me.”

Marya sighs. “Natasha, that’s the way Anatole is. He may have loved you, but he loves a different girl each week.”

Natasha’s face crumbles. “But I - it seemed so real.”

“Maybe it was.” Marya concedes, gently. “For awhile. But you’d best forget about him, Natasha. He will do you no good.”

“Andrey will never forgive me.”

“You’ll never know until you try.” She squeeze Natasha’s shoulder. “But Natasha, you don’t need any man to make you happy or strong.”

Natasha nods, and pulls Marya into a hug, staying there for several moments.

“I have to go.” She says finally, standing up from the couch, smoothing her skirt.

“Natalya, don’t you think you ought to rest here for the night -?”

“No, I have to go to Sonya’s. I was so awful to her, and she was only trying to protect me from - from this. I have to go apologize, it will make me feel better. And Marya?”

“Yes, my dear?”

“Please don’t go yell at Anatole. I doubt it will do anyone any good.”

Marya’s mouth sets in a firm line.

“Marya...promise me.”

She sighs. “Fine, Natalya.”

Natasha reaches out and squeezes her hand. She looks calmer, resolved, but it does nothing to quell the fury in Marya. Once Natasha slips out the door, she can do nothing but pace the floor, energy restless. Natasha’s broken heart and ruined relationship tear at her. She was responsible for her goddaughter here in the city, and she let all of this happen. It’s a disaster. It could ruin Natasha’s reputation with the ballet, even, scour her chances of getting promoted to a principal dancer. More than that, it’s torn some kind of sweet innocence from Natasha. She will probably never be so trusting or open-hearted again.

And Hélène let this happen, too.

Hélène encouraged this, with her attention to Natasha and her party invitation, and convincing Marya to leave the girl to her own devices the whole night. Hélène had been just as careless and thoughtless as Marya had known her to be in their youth, as Marya thought she’d stopped being. Perhaps it was Marya’s fault, for letting them both get so wrapped up with each other. But Hélène - so beautiful, so convincing, so thwarting of responsibility...

She’s still pacing when Hélène comes home. It’s past midnight and Marya has managed to do nothing but get herself more worked up. She rounds on her girlfriend almost immediately.

“Hélène Kuragina!” She says, voice booming in the small hallway. Hélène looks startled and confused. She drops her bag by the door.

“Maryusa, is everything alright -?” She asks, cautiously.

“No, everything is not alright!” Marya says, seething. “Do you know what’s happened? Has Anatole shared his little scheme with you? He always does, doesn’t he, and you go along with it every time.”

“His -? Marya, no, I don’t know what you mean -“

“Don’t you? You were the one who enabled him to see her again.”

Hélène’s face drops. “Anatole.” She says, voice filled with trepidation.

“Yes, Anatole.” Marya spits the name as if it is poison in her mouth. “Anatole has broken my goddaughter’s heart and tossed her out like trash, and you let him! You just stood by -“

“No, Marya, I had no idea -“

“So you didn’t invite Natasha to that party on his behalf?”

“I, well, I did - but I never thought anything would happen! She was with Andrey. And I would have invited her anyway, and he was just pestering me so much, I didn’t think there was any harm in it.”

“Well that was certainly foolish of you.” Marya says bitterly. “You knew exactly what he wanted from her. And he took it, and now what? Now my goddaughter has nothing but an empty heart to comfort her. Andrey will never take her back after this.”

“I’m sorry, Marya - I never thought it would go this far. I swear I would have stopped him if I thought…”

“Well it’s too late for that now, isn’t it?” Marya fixes a glare on Hélène’s face, refusing to let herself be moved by the stricken expression, the slight trembling of Hélène’s jaw.

“I’m sorry. I’ll talk to him, I’ll -“

“What good will that do? He’ll never be able to love her, and I wouldn’t want him near her again in a million lifetimes anyway. He’s lucky I don’t run him out of Manhattan altogether.” Marya sets her jaw. “You Kuragins. Using people like playthings. And is that all I am to you, after all? Something to have fun with, to love for a week until you get bored? It’s because of you I wasn’t around to protect Natasha, I trusted you that everything was fine! You didn’t even mention he was pursuing her!”

Hélène reaches out for Marya’s wildly gesturing hands, but she jerks them away. “Don’t touch me, Hélène.”

“But you must - you must understand that I love you.” Hélène falls to her knees before Marya, reaching out, just short of touching Marya again. It looks like it’s taking her a lot of effort; it looks like she is begging before Marya. There are tears in her eyes. But hours of anger have hardened Marya’s heart against this. Hélène cannot be forgiven so easily, it would be a betrayal to Natasha. “Marya.” Hélène continues. “Surely you must believe me? After these past few nights, after the pond, you know - you _know_ that I have loved you for so long. Marya, please.”

“I believe you.” Marya says, watches as hope blossoms in Hélène’s expression. She tears her gaze away; she won’t soften. “But I can’t even look at you right now.” She walks towards the door, leaving Hélène kneeling on the floor behind her. “I’m going to stay with Pierre tonight.”

“Marya, please don’t -“

“Let me go, unless you want to make this worse. I can’t give you my forgiveness tonight.”

“But - you still love -?”

Marya, hand on the doorknob, freezes. She doesn’t look behind her. “I can’t talk about this Hélène. Not now, with Natasha’s happiness so crushed. Neither of _us _deserve any comfort.”__

__“Then -? When will you come home -?”_ _

__Marya whirls around finally, eyes flashing. “Make this up to Natasha first. If I am all you are concerned about, you’re as selfish as ever. I’ll be home when I’m home, if that’s what this place even is anymore.”_ _

__Hélène takes a shaky breath, and nods. Marya can see fresh tear tracks on her cheeks, but she keeps herself steady, as hard as it is not to kneel down and wipe those tears away. Marya takes one last deep breath and turns around, walking out of the door._ _

__—_ _

__

__Hélène doesn’t bother to get up from the floor. She buries her face in her hands and sobs, letting herself go as she never does. She hasn’t cried this hard in years. But what pain is this - it is the separation of her heart from her body, gone out the door along with Marya. She might as well be bleeding from the chest._ _

__They’d been so happy._ _

__She’d been so happy._ _

__She ruins everything. She had a perfect love that didn’t even last a week._ _

__And it’s her fault. It’s her fault Marya is angry, and Natasha is in pain. Hélène doesn’t know how to be a good person, this just proves it. All she knows how to do is destroy people and poison their happiness. All she knows how to do is make stupid, stupid choices that cost her everything._ _

__And Anatole -_ _

__How is she kidding herself that she ever had any influence over him? If she had any hand in raising him, it clearly only made him more wretched and selfish like her._ _

__But god, she hopes she’s not so cruel, as to break a young girl’s heart in such a careless fashion. To pursue and to release like it was nothing. He is heartless. Her own brother._ _

__And he knew - he knew what Marya was to her - and what Natasha was to Marya and he -_ _

__She stands up, drawn into motion by the blaze of fury in her heart. Before she knows it she is flying out the door without only her keys in her pocket and a coat thrown haphazard over her shoulders. She takes her car, it’s faster._ _

__Hélène is at Anatole’s door in a blaze, knocking with all her might. If her knuckles bleed, so be it._ _

__After a moment, the door yanks open to reveal her brother, bleary-eyed from sleep. “Hélène?” He asks, sounding confused. “It’s almost 2am, what is so urgent? What’s the matter?”_ _

__“What’s the matter?” She repeats, incredulous. She takes fistfuls of the front of his shirt and drives him back into the apartment. He’s taller than her and could probably stop her, but he’s shocked enough that he lets her push him back into a wall. “What’s the matter?! What do you think, Anatole? Use your brain! What foolish thing have you done now, with no regard to anyone else? Think!”_ _

__“I don’t understand!” Anatole says, squirming in her hold. “And speaking to me this way is ridiculous! What has gotten into you, sweet sister?”_ _

__“Don’t call me that. I don’t need any reminder that I’m related to you right now.” Hélène snarls. “You really slept with Natasha? You promised her you loved her?”_ _

__“Oh, Natasha! Well, of course, Hélène! You know how infatuated I was with her, but of course, these things fade..”_ _

__“No they don’t! Not when they’re real! Not when you have a fucking heart, Anatole, my god!” She slams her fists into his chest once and the pulls away. “How could you do that to her? She had a boyfriend she loved -“_ _

__“Obviously not that much.”_ _

__“Anatole.” Hélène seethes. “You ruined her life. She thought you loved her.”_ _

__“Well, and I did! For a moment.”_ _

__“You’ve never loved anyone.”_ _

__“That’s absurd! I live to love -“_ _

__“You live to fuck.”_ _

__“Hélène!”_ _

__“Well, it’s true, isn’t it? You lied to that girl. All you wanted was to sleep with her. She expected more from you. Frankly, I did too.”_ _

__“Hélène, I simply fell out of love. Can I help how I felt?”_ _

__“People don’t fall in and out of love in three days! Not if it’s real!”_ _

__Anatole looks affronted. “You’re hysterical. I can’t talk to you when you’re like this.”_ _

__“How dare you!” Hélène flies at him again, fists pounding his chest. He gasps, and grabs her hands, stopping her. She feels tears prick at her eyes again, but she refuses to cry. She jerks away from her brother. “I love her, and now she won’t even speak to me!”_ _

__“Natasha? But I -“_ _

__“Not Natasha! Marya! My girlfriend, remember her? The godmother of the girl you hurt! And now she hates me, because of what you did. She may never forgive me.”_ _

__“Well, then, move in with me here - we’ll find someone else for you -“_ _

__“There is no one else, Anatole! God, what don’t you understand? She is it for me. I love her. That _means_ something. I want to marry her, Anatole, I want to spend every moment by her side. You have ruined everything with your selfish impulses, and you will never even understand how much I am hurting.”_ _

__“Elena…” he reaches for her, looking pained. “You’ve been crying. Elena, I didn’t know -“_ _

__“Don’t.” She says coldly. “Don’t call me that, and don’t touch me. The only way Marya will ever think I’ve changed is if I cut all ties with you. From now on, you are no brother to me.”_ _

__“You would -? Leave me? For a woman who judges you! For a woman who may not even take you back!”_ _

__“I’d do anything for her. If you’d ever felt real love you’d understand.”_ _

__“Hélène, please, you can’t - I need you -“_ _

__“Need me? For what? I’m done cleaning up your messes. Clearly nothing I ever did for you was right, clearly my affection and my care only served to make you more - cold and careless - and I cannot bare to see it anymore. And Fedya -“_ _

__“What about Fedya?” This, at least, seems to give Anatole pause._ _

__“You have taken him for granted for so long. You do not deserve him. After all he has done for you - after everything you put him through -”_ _

__“What do you mean? How could you be so cold to me?”_ _

__“How can you be so cold to everyone? So foolishly unaware of all we do for you, of all we feel -“ Hélène takes a deep, shaking breath. “Fedya wants to believe you can change. I don’t see how. You feel no remorse, even now.”_ _

__“Hélène, of course I feel bad that you are hurting, but you must see how it isn’t my fault Marya has taken this so badly - and taken it out on you, my poor -“_ _

__“Don’t. Don’t try to blame Marya for this.” Hélène warns him. “You can’t even muster up an apology, can you?”_ _

__“Well - if that is what you want so badly, I suppose I am sorry, but honestly Hélène -“_ _

__“That’s no apology. There is nothing real behind your ribcage.” Hélène glares. “Was I really not enough family love for you? Was it over, when we lost mother? Or have you always been this way and I refused to see it?”_ _

__Anatole pauses, expression wavering. “Mother left us. She chose to leave us.”_ _

__“And so all you do is abandon women? Is this some psychological revenge game you’re playing?”_ _

__“No. No, that’s not it at all.” Anatole shakes his head vehemently. “I don’t mean to -“ He looks helpless. “I don’t understand. Hélène?”_ _

__She shakes her head. “The one who is really owed an apology is Natasha. When you can figure out how to give her a sincere one, then you can talk to me. Right now I’d like to get far away from you and closer to a bottle of vodka.”_ _

__“Please, Hélène, is it safe when you’re so upset -?”_ _

__“What do you care?” She says viciously. “The worst has already happened to me.” She pushes away from him and stalks towards the door, ignoring his sounds of protests and she leaves._ _

__—_ _

__**Anatole:** Fedya, Hélène is being so cruel to me!_ _

__**Fedya:** Save it Anatole, she already called me on the way over to your place._ _

__**Anatole:** Well you can’t possibly agree with her!_ _

__**Fedya:** I can and I do._ _

__**Anatole:** But Fedya! This is nothing I haven’t done before, I’ve had many relationships that lost their spark..._ _

__**Fedya:** That’s true. And we should have cared then, too. I suppose it shouldn’t have mattered any less just because we didn’t know the girls whose hearts you broke._ _

__**Anatole:** I didn’t mean to hurt anyone._ _

__**Fedya:** You know, I believe that’s true. It doesn’t change the fact that you’re not sorry you did._ _

__**Anatole:** Fedya, please, Hélène is so mad. I don’t know what to do._ _

__**Fedya:** Maybe she should have been strict with you ages ago. You know what, Anatole? I’m not here for you as some kind of eternal sounding board and comfort giver for you to leech off of._ _

__**Anatole:** Fedya…_ _

__**Anatole:** She said I was taking you for granted. I don’t understand. I thought we were friends._ _

__**Fedya:** something like that anyway._ _

__**Fedya:** I can’t help you unless you can realize on your own why everyone’s upset with you. Maybe then you can make some genuine apologies. Some changes. I used to believe in that for you, but maybe Hélène is right._ _

__**Anatole:** No, she’s overreacting!_ _

__**Fedya:** Is she? When was the last time you saw Hélène cry?_ _

__**Anatole:** ...when our mother died._ _

__**Fedya:** So perhaps you could ascertain that this is of some significance to her?_ _

__**Anatole:** I didn’t know she could feel that way._ _

__**Anatole:** I didn’t know anyone could feel that strongly._ _

__**Fedya:** Anatole. Most people do._ _

__**Anatole:** I have to get Marya to forgive her._ _

__**Fedya:** My advice? Worry about seeking your own forgiveness first. Not that you ever listen to it._ _

__**Anatole:** I just want my sister back._ _

__**Fedya:** Maybe it’s not about what you want. For once._ _

__**Anatole:** Fedya? Do you hate me too?_ _

__**Fedya:** hate you? God, you’re an idiot._ _

__**Fedya:** I can’t handle this at 3am. _ _

__**Fedya:** Leave me out of it until you’ve figured this shit out. I’m not your moral compass or therapist, and I’m certainly not your last resort for when Hélène won’t talk to you._ _

__**Anatole:** Fedya, you’re my best friend._ _

__**Fedya:** am I?_ _

__**Fedya:** goodnight, Anatole._ _

__**Fedya:** don’t call me. I need some space._ _


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is forgiveness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd just like to extend a small warning to anyone who might be sensitive to this: Anatole does go a bit more in depth in talking about his mother's death via suicide, and Helene's reaction to it, so if that is a difficult subject for anyone I want to give everyone the heads up. It's a brief paragraph towards the end so feel free to skip from '"Love and Lust." until "her deepest feelings".

It has been four days. Four of the worst days of Marya’s life, if she’s honest, but she refuses to go home. She’s not ready to forgive Hélène yet, despite the numerous phone calls and messages and apologies sent via flowers and entire crates of rum to Pierre’s door. Marya has always been stubborn; once she has been hurt, her forgiveness is hard to obtain. It’s a trait that has kept her strong until now. She has been eternally like a sturdy ship never faltering in heavy wind, but suddenly it feels wretched to be so unyielding. She misses Hélène. 

She wants to hold her.

Pierre’s house is beautiful, but it feels cold and empty to her. It’s lonely even as she sits at the dinner table with Pierre and Natasha, who’s been visiting daily. Dinner is a quiet affair. Natasha is not yet up to her usual enthusiastic chatter, and Pierre is a quiet man by nature. Marya doesn’t say anything at all. She doesn’t eat anything at all.

“Marya.” A voice says insistently to her right, and when she looks up, Pierre and Natasha are both looking at her with concern. Pierre speaks again, “Marya, are you alright? You didn’t eat lunch, either.”

Marya sighs and pushes her plate of food towards the center of the table. “I’m sorry. I’m being a terrible guest, Pierre. I’m just not hungry.”

Pierre presses his lips together, and nods. He reaches out and squeezes Marya’s hand. She doesn’t look at him; she doesn’t want to see the pity there. She’s afraid she’ll recognize the bitter camaraderie of knowing what is is to have a heart broken by the same woman.

“Marya, this has to stop.” A small but firm voice says from next to Pierre, and Natasha carefully sets down her fork. Marya looks up in surprise, unused to that tone from her youngest goddaughter.

“Natalya -?”

“You need to forgive her. You need to go home.”

“I don’t _need_ to do anything, Natasha, and I’m not ready -”

“Yes you are. The only reason you haven’t forgiven her yet is because you feel guilty that it’s some kind of betrayal to me. It’s not. I want you to forgive her.”

Marya’s eyes narrow. “Did she put you up to this?”

“No. She did call me, to apologize and ask if there was anything she could do for me, but…” Natasha shakes her head. “She didn’t even mention you. She said she was sorry and that she no longer considered Anatole to be any family of hers, and that she hoped I would forgive her some day. I told her I already had, and that I don’t blame her for anything. Because I don’t. My decisions were my own. It’s not like I wasn’t warned, and Hélène never told me any differently about Anatole. She never forced me. Anatole is the one who lied to me.”

Marya frowns, but doesn’t respond. She’s not sure what to say. This newfound mature confidence in Natasha is bolstering, but she’s not quite sure how to speak to a Natasha who seems so devoid of her usual cheerful innocence.

“Marya, you’re miserable. Both of us can see that.” Here, Natasha looks to Pierre, who nods.

“I’m always happy to host you here, Marya, but - Natasha is right. It’s clear you’d rather be with Hélène.” Pierre says.

“You told me to be careful, Pierre, and you were right - you told me a relationship with her was chaotic and it might end in disaster.”

“And is this the end? Are you planning on leaving her? For good?”

“I -” Marya stops, frozen. Her heart seizes up at the thought. She hasn’t let herself dwell on it, but somewhere in the back of her mind she realizes she’s always been planning on returning. She can’t even fathom a world where this was the end for them. “No. I couldn’t.”

“So go and forgive her. All you’re doing is wasting time when you could both be happy.” Natasha says, leaning forward. “You love her, Marya. She makes you so happy.” Her goddaughter reaches out and takes her hands in her smaller ones, the touch gentle and sweet and supportive. “I just want to see that happiness again. It would help so much to know someone could be happy.” She pauses, lips pressing together, glancing quickly at Pierre before returning to Marya. “Andrey may never forgive me. I don’t deserve it -”

Here, Pierre lays a hand on Natasha’s shoulder, and shakes his head once. It’s clear they’ve talked about this before; Marya wonders when Pierre and Natasha got so close.

“Well, even if he doesn’t forgive me. Marya, Hélène deserves forgiveness. She’s trying. And I’d like to see someone receive that absolution.”

Marya nods. “I’m just not sure if I can…”

“Think about it. Are you really angry anymore? Or do you just miss her and feel too stubborn to admit it?” Natasha asks, a knowing glint in her eye. Marya arches an eyebrow at her.

“I think you might be getting a little too wise, young lady.”

“I’m just growing up.” Natasha says softly, gazing with the endless kindness she is so known for. “And you helped me get here. Now please, use some of that wisdom of your own and go get your lady.”

Marya squeezes Natasha’s hands and stands up from the table. “Thank you, Natasha.” She turns to her oldest friend and squeezes his shoulder. “And you, Pierre, for letting me indulge my stubborn side.”

“That’s quite alright, I got a lot of expensive rum out of the deal…”

“Oh, no, I’ll be back to pick that up.” Marya grins. She feels lighter than she has in days.

“Oh and Marya?” Natasha draws her attention again. “According to twitter, Hélène’s understudy has gone on for the past four days. My guess is she’s not eating or sleeping either. If none of us hear from you for the next 24 hours, we’ll just assume you’re in a coma or having marathon sex in between meals, so I’d text if you accidentally kill her. Just so we know if there’s a body to take care of.”

Marya’s mouth gapes open. “Natasha!”

Natasha giggles. It’s the first time Marya has heard that sound in days, and it’s like medicine for the heart. Even Pierre grins. 

Marya smiles and shakes her head. “Between you and Sonya, the sass is unbelievable.”

“Well, they’ve had a very strong and outspoken woman to look up to.” Pierre mentions. “Now get out of here, you’re practically vibrating with the need to see her.”

Marya wants to glare at him, but it’s true, she can’t hold herself back any longer. With a flash of a smile, she’s out the door, barely remembering to grab her bag.

When she bursts in through the door, it slams against the opposite wall from the force of it, and Marya hears a crash from the living room. She rushes in to find Hélène in a pile of blankets on the floor, clearly having just fallen off the couch in surprise. She’s blinking and confused, but her whole face seems to light up when she spots Marya.

She’s tangled in the blankets and struggling to stand up, but Marya doesn’t let her get that far. It’s not graceful, but she collapses to her knees before Hélène, breathless from her brisk walk here and breathless with the feeling of seeing her again. Hélène’s mouth is open, but she doesn’t speak. She looks like she’s waiting on the edge of a cliff.

“Elena…” Marya murmurs, eyes roaming over her face like she’s drinking it in. It hasn’t even been a week and she missed this face, missed every curve and line and the sweet curl of Hélène’s mouth, with always the hint of a smile. She’s so goddamn deep in these waters, but she barely even remembers starting to swim.

“You’re home.” Hélène finally says, breathlessly. “Marya, I’m so -”

“Don’t. You don’t need to apologize any more. I forgive you. Elena, I never should have gotten so angry, I never should have walked out of here -”

“You were right to be angry with me, I was thoughtless -”

“But I should never have accused you of using me -”

“It doesn’t matter, I’m just so glad you’re here -”

“I’m glad I’m here, god, I missed you -”

“I love you -”

Marya seals her mouth over Hélène’s, effectively ending their half-hysterical exchange. She pushes her back down onto the floor, not breaking the kiss as they go. Hélène grips at Marya’s hair, tugging slightly, as if trying to pull her as close as possible. She hooks a leg around Marya’s hip. Marya is reaching a hand down to pull up Hélène’s shirt when a loud voice interrupts them.

“YOU JUST LEFT THE DOOR OPEN THIS TIME. _You’re not even trying!_ ”

Marya is completely unsurprised to see it’s Sonya standing at the entrance to the living room. Hélène sighs and lowers her leg, allowing Marya to sit up. Marya can’t help but laugh at her girlfriend’s dejected expression. 

“This had better be good, Sonya, we were about to have amazing make-up sex.” Hélène says, pouting. Marya grins down at her.

“That’s nice and all - I mean actually, I am really happy for you guys - I just have some pretty big news and it’s super weird to talk to you guys when you’re…” Sonya gestures at them vaguely. “On the floor? Please get up.”

Marya obliges, moving off of Hélène so that she can help her untangle the blankets, and then they both stand. Hélène holds her hand; it feels like coming home.

“What is it, Sonyushka? Is everything alright?” Marya asks, and Sonya takes a deep breath.

“Andrey is coming home.”

Marya’s eyes widen, and she steps forward. “Andrey is -?”

“Coming home. Friday. And Saturday is his welcome home party at his sister’s apartment. Apparently, somehow, we’re all still invited.”

“Oh, well, this will be a disaster.”

“Hélène.” Marya and Sonya turn to scold her in unison, and she holds up a hand in surrender.

“Sorry, I’m just saying…”

Marya sighs, running a hand through her hair. “No. You’re right. It could be - unless we come up with a game plan. Is Natasha planning on going?”

“She says she wants to apologize to Andrey, so…” Sonya shrugs helplessly. “I couldn’t convince her to let it wait.”

“Well then. I think we’ll need to call in Pierre.”

Hélène snorts. “Pierre? Andrey’s best friend Pierre?”

“Yes. Perhaps he can make sure there’s no - scene - at the party if he talks to Andrey beforehand.”

“He once let Andrey call me a bloodsucking whore who was draining the lifeforce out of his best friend in the middle of a crowded restaurant on Pierre’s birthday. Pretty sure he’d let Andrey say anything he wants.”

“He - called you what?”

“Ah, it was college. Bygones.” Hélène waves a hand in dismissal. “Point is, Pierre doesn’t have much of a spine, and it’s nonexistent when it comes to Andrey. But honestly? I think we have to let Natasha handle this one.”

“You can’t be serious. Last time we left her to her own devices -“

“She learned from it. Marya, when I spoke to her on the phone, I heard a mature and poised young woman. I think she can handle this. She’s doing the right thing, asking for his forgiveness. Don’t you think?” She squeezes Marya’s hand, and her expression is tender, almost questioning.

“Yes. Of course, yes, but - what if he says no, and humiliates her, or hurts her even further and she’s right back to being heartbroken?”

Hélène steps closer, a comforting presence. She looks to Sonya, who is pressing her lips together in consideration.

“Then that’s something she needs to go through, too.” Sonya says finally. “She’ll never heal if she can’t forgive herself, and she’ll never forgive herself unless she apologizes to Andrey.”

“He’s typically a good man, but his temper - he may deny her any forgiveness.”

“He may, but that will be his choice. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but Hélène is right, we have to let her do this. The most we can do is be there for her.”

Marya looks to Hélène, and presses a kiss to her temple. “May we all be forgiving, then.” She pauses, sighs. “You should talk to your brother.” She says, however reluctantly.

Hélène’s mouth gapes open. “But he -“

“I know. And I know what you told him. Natasha says you cut him out?”

“Completely. I can’t have him in my life - not if he threatens what I have with you, not if he behaves in such a manner -“

“I can’t be responsible for you losing your brother, Hélène. I know that you love him, despite his flaws. And he’ll only get worse if left on his own.”

“But what he did...I’m not sure I can forgive him. He didn’t even seem to understand why…”

“Perhaps with time.”

“Could you forgive him? Could Natasha?”

“That...may take considerably more time.” Marya takes a deep breath. “There are people who’ve said you would never change, that you weren’t more than you appeared to be, but they were wrong. What Anatole did was - despicable, and he is certainly not to be anywhere near family gatherings at this residence, but I would never deny you the chance to help him change, and the chance to continue to know your own brother. I know the effort you’ve put into him, since you were children.”

“And look what good that’s done.”

Marya squeezes Hélène’s hand. “You were only a girl. Don’t blame yourself anymore. You did your best on your own, Elena. But you’re not alone anymore.”

Hélène turns to Marya and wraps a hand around her neck, bringing her down so their lips can meet. Marya slides a hand around her waist and pulls Hélène closer. She wants to bury a hand in her hair and kiss her deeper, but she’s conscious of the fact that Sonya is present and instead gently pulls back after a moment.

“I want this.” Sonya says softly. When Marya turns to look at her, she has her hands clasped in front of her and she’s wringing them together delicately. “I want something like this. You two -“

“So you _did_ enjoy the show?”

“Not the appropriate time here, Hélène.”

Hélène smiles, but nods. She releases Marya and moves over to Sonya, gently reaching out for her hand.

“Sonya, someone would be lucky to love you, and they absolutely will. You are too good for this world, and you will soon have to put up with some poor wretch, just as Marya does with me. Before you know it.” She smiles, and Marya is warmed by the tenderness of her tone. She can see the softer side of Hélène in this, the side that probably cleaned scrapes and soothed worries for her little brothers when she was just a small girl herself.

Marya has never wanted children of her own before now, but she can’t help but think she might like to, if Hélène was her partner in it.

Sonya smiles back at Hélène, and nods. “I’m so new at this.”

“Ah, here’s a secret. We’re all just newborn children when we fall in love. Even the most experienced person will lose their mind in love.” Here, Hélène glances to Marya, the corner of her lip pulled up and eyes twinkling. “Even someone who thinks she has it all figured out can be proven wrong.” She looks back to Sonya and squeezes her hand again before letting it go. “Your match will be perfect for you. You’ll grow together and learn together.”

“And we’ll be here for you through all of it.” Marya assures her eldest goddaughter. She reaches out to touch Sonya gently on the cheek. Sonya beams at her, and Marya is filled with a love so strong it almost makes her weep.

To have family like this is all she could ever ask for.

—

“Yes, Hélène, I’m fine. Really I’m fine, since when did you start to sound so - motherly?” Fedya says into his phone, grinning as he lounges back in his chair. “I’m happy you and Marya have made up, and that she’s alright with you talking to Anatole again but I -“

“I understand how you feel, Fedya.” Hélène’s voice comes through the phone as rich as ever, despite any electronic distortion. It’s as if her voice is immune to the limits of technology. “I don’t know if I’m ready to forgive him yet, either. I don’t blame you if you don’t - I just can’t abandon my brother.”

“I don’t want to abandon him either.”

“You’re taking care of yourself. He isn’t healthy for you. Not the way your relationship has been.” Hélène pauses, sighing. “And don’t worry, I plan to change the dynamic of our relationship as well. I’m done mothering him, and I’m done trying to be his cool-with-everything best friend. I just need to be his family now.”

“You sound old.”

“Thanks, Fedya.” Hélène’s laugh sings through his speaker, and he grins.

“I’m proud of you, Hélène.”

“I’m proud of you too. I know it hurts, but you are worth standing up for yourself.”

“Enough sisterly advice. Go have your weird marathon make up sex. I’ll be at Andrey’s party, as requested.”

“It’s not that weird.”

“Listen I wish I’d never asked, because I am forever going to be baffled why ‘secret affair from the nineteenth century and Marya wearing long skirts you can practically hide under’ is your role play kink.”

“It’s thrilling and scandalous.”

“Just please lock your door. I think you have fully traumatized Sonya.” 

“Are you friends with the elder Rostova now? That’s sweet.”

“Someone needs to welcome her into the queer community who isn’t constantly shoving their down Marya’s throat, because frankly, that is not helpful.”

“I gave her very good advice today!”

“Sure, sure. Now -“

“Get back to my kinky role play? I will, Marya’s just trying to find the corset and stockings.”

“How many times do I have to tell you no more details?”

Hélène laughs, rasping and delighted, and he hears a click as Hélène hangs up.

He sets the phone down on his side table and makes his way into the kitchen, but he’s stopped halfway there by a knock on the door.

Fedya hesitates, but walks over and checks the peephole. As expected, it’s Anatole. The only other visitors Fedya would be getting would be Hélène, who he knows is otherwise occupied, and his mother and sisters - who are hours away and not prone to surprise visits.

He frowns and opens the door, but only partway. “Anatole.” He greets, devoid of any sort of welcoming tone.

“Fedya!” Anatole, for once, doesn’t sound like his natural cheerful self. Fedya can see through the crack that his hair, for once, isn’t gelled to high heaven and there are dark circles under his eyes. It surprises him enough that he opens the door a little further, but he still doesn’t step back.

“I thought I told you not to come by. Or was ‘don’t call me until you figure your shit out’ too vague?”

“But I did! Or I’m trying to, I swear, Fedya -” 

“I know you and Hélène are talking again, Anatole, but that has nothing to do with me. And don’t wheedle her to talk to me on your behalf, she agrees it’s my decision how and when I forgive you.”

“I know. And you told me to focus on seeking that forgiveness, and I am. I spoke with Natasha, did Hélène tell you that?”

“No, Anatole.” Fedya sighs. He’s wary of this entreaty. “Did you actually apologize to her?”

“Yes. She threw a drink in my face, which - in retrospect was totally within her rights and I hope it made her feel better.” 

Fedya arches an eyebrow.

“She, uh, did not forgive me. Exactly. But I wasn’t expecting that of course - it will take time.”

“You sound like a platitude.”

“I bought a book on apologizing.”

“Oh Jesus.” Fedya steps back and ushers Anatole into the apartment, shutting the door behind him. “So you’re really trying?”

“Yes. I was thinking of hiring a life coach -”

“No.”

“Okay. Well. Fedya...I really am sorry. Natasha is a wonderful girl, I shouldn’t have prioritized my...impulses over her feelings. I should have known we wanted different things. I just - I didn’t understand - I thought it was the same thing.”

“You thought what was the same thing?”

“Love and lust.” Anatole frowns, biting his lower lip. He walks further into the apartment and sets the bag he was carrying down on a chair before turning back to Fedya. “I didn’t realize what love actually felt like. Until I spoke to Hélène…I’ve never seen her like that, Fedya. She hasn’t been so - emotional - since...well. I was only three when mother died. But I still remember how much Hélène changed after.” He pauses, looking down at his shoes. “She found the body. Did she ever tell you that? She once told me she thought Mom wanted her to find her. That it was Hélène’s fault, because Mom hated her for being imperfect.”

Fedya’s heart clenches. He didn’t know the Kuragins until he and Anatole were in their late teens and Hélène her early twenties. Hélène and Anatole already seemly firmly rooted in their personalities, unwaveringly confident in who they were. Occasionally he has glimpsed moments of a softer, more vulnerable Hélène. That softness inside comes out more often nowadays, but Hélène still rarely talks about her childhood before her mother left them. That’s how she described it, ‘left them’. Fedya knew the story was complicated, but he had never wanted to pry. Hélène, despite her charming personality that makes all think they are her dear friend, is intensely private about her childhood and her deepest feelings.

“None of us were perfect children. Perfect people. But I always figured that there was no point in getting attached to anyone who would hate you for it.” Anatole shrugs a shoulder. “I like women because they think I’m perfect, when they first meet me. But that fades. It always fades.” He runs a hand through his hair, messing it up even further. “I don’t like to watch it fade.” His eyes are firmly on his feet. Fedya has never seen such vulnerability in Anatole. “I thought maybe you - you always seemed to see me for what I was. But you didn’t hate me. I thought it was a miracle. I was sure I would ruin it, though. And I did, didn’t I?” He takes a deep breath. He looks up. It’s a different Anatole entirely from the one Fedya has known for years, and somehow, it’s so much more honest. He falls in love just a little bit more. “Even Hélène - I thought she’d understand no matter what. But - I’m happy. I’m happy she changed. I’m happy she has Marya. I just can’t lose her. I can’t lose you.”

“Anatole…”

“I’m going into therapy.” He says quietly. “I don’t know how to change on my own. And I wouldn’t put it all on Hélène, or on you, to teach me how to be better. To unlearn everything that makes me -“ He makes a vague gesture at himself. “This way. It will take time.”

Fedya nods, filled with an inexplicable burst of pride and tenderness, like he’s watching a baby bird take flight for the first time. “This is good, Anatole.” He says. He reaches out and touches Anatole’s shoulder. It’s hard not to melt into it and wrap his arms around the taller man, but, he has to take baby steps first. “I’m proud of you.”

Anatole cracks a smile. It lights up his face, as it always does. “Really?” He sounds so happy. “Fedya, please forgive me. I’m going to work on being a better friend to you. I won’t take you for granted anymore, I’ll appreciate you. Properly.”

“I forgive you, Anatole. All I wanted was for you to understand - to be sincere.” 

“I am!” Anatole says earnestly, clasping a hand over Fedya’s, still on his shoulder. “I am absolutely sincere. And look, I even - when I was picking up the book I saw these and I - I had to get them for you.”

He turns to his bag and pulls out a little box, holding it out to Fedya. Confused and slightly wary, he takes it, inspecting it. He finds it’s a box containing a set of four shot glasses. The picture on the outside of the box shows a close up of the image engraved on each one: a small old fashioned gun with the caption “shots fired”. Dolokhov laughs.

“Well, these are ...something. What did you get Hélène as a make up present?”

“She said what she wanted most was an old-fashioned dressing gown. Do you know wh-“

“Absolutely do not ask any questions. For your own good.”

“Fedya, if this is some role play thing of Hélène’s, I’m absolutely not embarrassed. We are very open about our sex lives.”

“...that’s something you should maybe bring up with the therapist.”

Anatole cocks an eyebrow, as if trying to gauge whether Fedya’s joking. He’s not, not really, but Anatole seems to decide he is because he laughs. 

“Do you like them?” He asks, gesturing to the box.

“They’re wonderful.” Fedya says genuinely, and sets the box carefully down on his table. “It’s still the afternoon, but we could break into them as a celebration of forgiveness?”

“It’s what our Russian forefathers would want.”

“Anatole, do you promise you’re committed to this? To changing?”

Anatole grasps both of Fedya’s hands, and looks him straight in the eye. “More committed to this than anything before. You and Hélène were right, I didn’t know what love really was. I want to figure it out. Hélène is so happy. If I’m honest, I have never been happy like that.”

“You’re always happy, Anatole.”

“This is different. You can see it...Fedya, it’s like she becomes this planet when she’s around Marya, and Marya is the sun. She orbits her like it’s her one purpose and she loves it. How did I not see it before?” Anatole presses his lips together. “It took almost losing her to really pay attention to how my sister was actually feeling. To care. How awful is that?”

Fedya can’t disagree, but he sighs, clasping a hand to Anatole’s shoulder. He moves to his countertop to grab a bottle of vodka. “Come on then, open up the shot glasses. Let’s drink to new beginnings.”

“Alright, yes, let’s.” Anatole unpacks the shot glasses and sets them out, Fedya stepping forward to fill them. He smiles and it makes Fedya’s heart pound, the foolish thing. They clink glasses, and drink their shots with arms interlocked, a move they’d long ago perfected.

Anatole lowers his glass slowly, his eyes on Fedya’s. After a moment, he reaches out a hand, gently clasping it around Fedya’s wrist, moving the hand with the shot glass away from Fedya’s face. Fedya lets him do this. He’s not sure why. It feels like a bad idea. 

It is a bad idea.

But a good one, too, in a way.

Anatole moves forward, quick like he’s afraid and trying to be brave, and kisses Fedya on the mouth. It is a firm kiss, if not intensely confident, and perhaps a bit rushed. It still leaves Fedya stunned.

He doesn’t speak or move, even as Anatole looks at him with wide, imploring eyes. Something inside of him is trembling, threatening to crumble.

“Fedya, are you -?”

“Why would you do that?” Fedya says finally, voice strained. He’s not sure what he’s feeling: betrayal, fear, anger? A deep disappointment because he really thought - he really thought Anatole was going to change. That he’d never try to use Fedya like this. “After all we we were saying. After your promises to stop using people -”

“Fedya, no! That wasn’t! That wasn’t what I was trying to do, I swear.”

“You said you wanted to find out what love was. Not hook up with your best friend. Not this. God, Anatole, kisses should mean something. It’s like you know every single weak spot to press and you take delight in it -”

“I don’t understand.” Anatole shakes his head. “I don’t - Fedya. It did mean something. It does mean something, when it’s you.”

“You always say shit like that.”

Anatole takes a deep, shaky breath. “I’ve always wanted to kiss you. The reason I’ve never done it before is because I was afraid. I knew that with you it wasn’t something I could brush aside If things went wrong, or if you decided you didn’t want me. And of course you wouldn’t want me. You could have anyone, Fedya, you’re so good.”

Fedya’s heart seizes up. He’s not sure how to process this. “You - you were always telling me to marry your sister!”

Anatole smiles weakly. “Well, it would certainly keep you around forever, wouldn’t it?”

Fedya’s lips part, but he’s too dumbstruck to respond.

“You are the closest thing I’ve ever felt to what Hélène feels for Marya.” Anatole confesses. He looks like he wants to step closer, but he keeps himself in check. “I know that I could love you like that, if I let myself try. If you - if you wanted to try.” He worries at his lower lip. “God, I’m being so stupid, aren’t I? You wouldn’t want anything to do with me.”

“You’re a fucking idiot.” Fedya swears vehemently. “You’re such an idiot, Anatole. How did you not see that I’ve been in love with you for years? How are you so fucking blind, it’s a wonder -”

He’s stopped when Anatole throws his arms around him, bringing him in for a tight embrace.

“Fedya, would you like to try? You and I?” He asks, voice so soft near Fedya’s ear. He can’t even raise his arms to hug back, he’s so floored. This can’t be happening. He’d resigned himself to a lifetime of loving Anatole and not saying a word about it, of never having him, of never knowing an Anatole who was even capable of - but Anatole is here now, imploring him to try, the gentle confession of a full heart on his soft lips.

“Fedya…” Anatole starts to pull back, but Fedya finally raises his arms to Anatole’s back, stopping him.

“Yes.” He says, breathless. “Yes, I’d like to try -”

Anatole pulls back enough to look him in the eye, and his smile is rapturous. It’s Fedya’s favorite smile. Anatole dives forward for another kiss and this time Fedya responds with enthusiasm, bringing a hand to cradle Anatole’s jaw, stepping into the lead and deepening the kiss. He kisses Anatole until he can’t breathe, then finally pulls back. Anatole is flushed, looking dazed.

“Jesus, Fedya…” He breathes fast. “You devil, you absolute - do you always kiss like that? I may not survive this.”

Fedya lets out a deep laugh, throwing his neck back with the force of it. “Oh, Anatole, you have no idea what you’re in for.”

He sees Anatole’s smirk, that little sparkle of mischief in his best friend’s - his boyfriend’s? - eyes. “Well, I am quite ready to find out -” He says, but Dolokhov places a hand on his chest, stopping him.

“Oh, I don’t think so. Not quite yet.” He says, and Anatole’s face drops into confusion. “Anatole. If we’re going to do this, we’re going to do it right. I’m not jumping into bed with you right away. In fact…” Gently, he pushes Anatole back, creating space between them. “From now on, I think we ought to take things slow. Very slow.”

“But, Fedya -” Anatole whines. 

“No. We’re going to do this properly. I’m not going to be a fling or something you’ll get bored of after we fuck.”

“You wouldn’t be.”

“You’ll have to prove it.” Fedya says. He’s firm in this. “We’re going to date properly. Exclusively. I need to see 100 percent commitment from you, Tolya. And we’re taking it slow physically. Those are my terms.”

“I didn’t know dating was such a negotiation.”

“You Kuragins are dangerous. One has to protect himself.” Fedya says, just the hint of a smile on his lips.

“I’m pretty sure Hélène didn’t have to take it slow -”

“Yes, well, they kind of put the cart before the horse on that relationship. But this is about us.” Fedya shakes his head. “We take it slow, or we don’t go at all.”

“You don’t trust me?” Anatole asks, softly.

“I want to, Anatole. But trust is something you earn.” Fedya says, gentle. He reaches out and takes Anatole’s hand. “This is what I need from you. I need you to listen to that, and if you can’t, if it’s not going to be possible, I won’t hold it against you. You just need to be upfront, here. Is this something you really want? Can you be patient?”

Anatole pauses, expression serious for once, considering. He nods. “For you. Of course.”

Fedya smiles, and smiles, and smiles.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is resolution, and a very happy ending.

Hélène presses a kiss to Marya’s neck, just at the top of her spine, before finishing zipping up her dress for her. It’s a brilliant scarlet red, fitting close to Marya’s curves, and Hélène loves it. She loves the woman inside of it more.

“You’re going to steal all the attention and ruin Andrey’s welcome home party.” Hélène says playfully, turning her girlfriend around so she can gaze up at her face. 

“I think the only attention I’m going to steal is yours, darling.”

“Mmm. Well. I’m surprised I’m even invited, considering Andrey probably considers me the sister of the devil himself. He never liked me much when I was dating Pierre, either.”

“I’m convinced it’s only because he had a crush on Pierre back then.”

Hélène shrugs a shoulder. “Maybe so. I’m slightly offended he never asked for a threesome, if that was the case.”

Marya’s nose wrinkles. “Please don’t put that mental image in my head.”

Hélène laughs. “Don’t worry. The only person I’ll ever need now is you.” She places a hand on Marya’s shoulder, a sweet caress. “In every way.”

Marya smiles. “You know I would have insisted he invite you if he hadn’t. I think it will actually help Natasha to have you there. To have all of us there.”

“She’ll be okay.” Hélène tries to reassure Marya. She knows how intensely Marya worries for her girls, but Hélène also knows you can’t always protect someone from themselves. People have to make their own mistakes in order to learn from them. She’s been there, and now she’s watching her brother go through the same thing. She just wishes she’d forced Anatole to deal with the consequences of his actions sooner, although she’s proud of the progress he’s started to make.

She’s proud of all of them.

Mary reaches out and smooths the lines of Hélène’s dress, eyes thoughtful. She’s clearly still holding back concern for Natasha, and her first method of distraction is always cleaning and arranging, making things look perfect. Hélène lets Marya fuss over her, smiling indulgently, until they hear the front door open.

“I am walking in the front door now! It was, once again, unlocked - by the way that’s just not a safe practice - so if you could please announce whether it’s safe to approach the living room?” Sonya’s voice echoes from the hallway. Marya grins down at Hélène, who presses up on tiptoes for a quick peck on the lips then steps back.

“You’re clear!” She calls, and a moment later Sonya appears with Natasha in tow.

“They’re heathens, Natasha, never trust them.” Sonya advises with a quick little smile. 

“I know. I stumbled across them yesterday in the closet where we keep the extra rehearsal items.” Natasha laughs, blushing only slightly. 

“Honestly, you two - at work?”

“We’ve been working completely different hours. I missed her.” Hélène says, a shameless grin on her face. “And that leotard does things to me -“

“No, stop, stop right there.” Sonya says firmly.

Hélène shrugs a shoulder. “As you wish.”

“Is Pierre meeting us here?” Natasha asks.

“No, Andrey asked him to come by early. He’s probably already there. We’re waiting for Fyodor.” Marya explains.

“The Bolkonskys invited Fedya? This is going to be a bizarre party.” Sonya remarks.

“That’s the only good kind.” Hélène smirks, then softens, seeing Natasha’s nervous expression. “It won’t be so bad. And if it’s insufferable, we’ll leave. Nothing like a good exit to be a truly fashionable lady.” She reaches out, tapping an index finger to Natasha’s cheek, waiting to see Natasha’s smile before she drops her hand. She’s not sure when she became so attached to these girls, but she supposes she was bound to love every part of Marya - and her godchildren, her love for them, is one of the best parts of her.

“We’ll be late if he doesn’t arrive soon, and not fashionably. Rudely.” Marya says, sternly. “It’s important we’re polite. Just because things are...awkward, it doesn’t mean we shouldn’t keep up all appearances of graciousness. That way they can’t say a mean thing about us and everyone shall be satisfied.”

“Ah, my dear, always looking out for our reputations.” Hélène takes Marya’s hand and squeezes it. “Fedya texted, he just got off the subway and says we can meet him at the station.”

Marya nods and they all file out of the apartment. Hélène watches Sonya and Natasha walk in front of them, Sonya holding onto Natasha’s arm. She’s talking to Natasha in soft tones, clearly reassuring her. Hélène’s not sure a party is the best place for an apology, but Natasha didn’t want to wait, or let the party go by without saying a thing. Hélène herself was never great friends with Andrey, but he always seemed a bit mercurial to her, especially with his former girlfriend Liise. A part of her feels like stopping this whole thing right now, as she can tell Marya wants to, to protect Natasha from any backlash. But she also knows this is something Natasha has to do, as someone who’s had to seek forgiveness before. 

She runs a thumb over the back of the hand she’s holding, catching Marya’s attention. “Everything’s gonna work out, Marusya. I have a good feeling about it.”

“No, you don’t. But thanks for trying to reassure me.” Marya sighs, the pressure of her fingers tightening around Hélène’s. “The Bolkonskys are a powerful family. Andrey’s father was on the board of the ballet. If this goes badly - it could be more than Natasha’s feelings at stake.”

“We have to have faith, then. Natasha is a charming and sincere girl, and Andrey loved her once. He can’t be so cold, so hurt, as to ruin her. Why would he even invite us, if that was his goal?”

“I don’t know. It doesn’t make sense. And Pierre - surely he wouldn’t let Natasha get hurt.”

“Ah, yes, he has grown quite attached hasn’t he?”

“You know Pierre. He’s always drawn to goodness.”

“Not sure why he dated me then.”

Marya laughs, but hip checks Hélène lightly. “I did tell you to stop talking about yourself like that, didn’t I?”

“Maybe I need another lesson, dear…” Hélène drops her voice, using her free hand to trail fingers up Marya’s arm. She feels goosebumps under her fingertips, but Marya only turns to glare at her. It sends a shiver down her spine.

“That can be arranged.” She says, stern and deep. Hélène is about two seconds from begging Marya to push her into the nearest wall when she hears a throat clear. She turns to see Fedya beaming at her, a knowing glint in his eyes.

“Ah, ladies, when will this honeymoon period end? We’re all so tired of being constantly three steps away from seeing you be arrested for public indecency.”

“Please, as if you won’t be just as bad when you finally let Anatole -“

Marya clasps a hand over Hélène’s mouth. “That’s enough of that.” 

Hélène nips at her palm playfully, but keeps quiet when Marya takes her hand away. 

“Good girl.” Marya says quietly near her ear, and Hélène smirks. 

“Reward me later?” She says, batting her eyes at Marya, before taking her hand and leading them into the subway station. Marya’s answering laughter trails down the steps as they descend to the platform.

—

Natasha doesn’t want to go to this party. She doesn’t want to see Andrey, or his sister, to whom she’s been a terrible friend. Not that they were close in the first place, but - surely Mary hates her now. Natasha wants to be liked, more than anything. But she messed up. Trusting Anatole, getting wrapped up in all of it, losing sight of her love for Andrey and her commitment to him just because it got hard.

But she has to make things right. She desperately wants Andrey to know how sorry she is, how wretched she feels. How much better he deserves from her. But also, how much more she needed from him. Andrey was distant, cold even, towards the end. It wasn’t fair to her - but what she did wasn’t right either.

She trails behind Marya and Hélène as they approach the front door, Sonya and Dolokhov on either side of her. She’s still somewhat uncomfortable with Dolokhov, despite the fact that he’s always been friendly with her, but he’s here to support her and she’s not about to turn that away. Even if he is inexplicably allowing Anatole into his romantic life.

When they knock, the door opens quickly. It’s Pierre, to Natasha’s extreme relief, though nerves still itch under her skin. He welcomes them in and takes their jackets, imploring them to get settled. Once they enter the living room, he approaches Natasha.

“Andrey is in the spare room. I told him you’d like to talk, and I thought it might be better in private?”

Natasha nods. “Thank you, Pierre.”

Pierre leads her to Mary’s spare bedroom, and leaves her at the door with a supportive squeeze of the shoulder. She takes a deep breath, steels herself, and knocks.

Andrey opens the door. He is as beautiful as ever, but instead of filling Natasha with the usual boundless joy, it just seems to compound her guilt and make her feel more wretched. His beard has grown since she last saw him. It’s been so long. She feels like a different person entirely than the girl he knew and loved.

His expression is guarded, but he lets her in, shuts the door behind her.

“Natasha. You look well.”

“Andrey, I -“

“Please. Can we take this slowly? I spoke to Pierre, and he passed on your desperate wishes to apologize but…I’m tired, Natasha. I don’t want to be angry at you.”

“But then…?”

“I _am_ angry at you. I just don’t want to to be.” He sigh, and sits down on the bed. “So. How are you?”

She almost bursts into laughter, sad and desperate, the question is so absurd.

“I missed you.” She says, not a complete nor entirely honest answer.

“I’m home now.” Andrey runs a hand through his hair. “Too late though, eh?”

“Andrey...I’m sorry. I’m sorry I let this happen.”

“Me too.” He scowls, looks down at his feet. “I know I was gone longer than you expected. I know you get lonely. I know I didn’t communicate. But Jesus, Natasha, Anatole Kuragin?”

“He...was very charming.” She sighs. Natasha looks back now and sees how naive she was, how obvious it was what exactly Anatole was interested in. It’s hard to believe than in just a few weeks she went from naively trusting everyone who was the least bit nice to her, to the girl she is now, cautious and thoughtful. “I was stupid.”

“He’s done this to many girls.”

“That makes me even stupider.”

“I hate to hear you talk of yourself that way, Natalie.” Andrey looks up, pats the bed next to him. “Sit. Let’s talk. Let’s reach some kind of peace.”

Natasha nods, and sits next to him, holding herself a little awkwardly. 

“Andrey, I should never have broken up with you in such a terrible manner. I lost my head.” She tells him, and takes a deep breath. “I feel awful. I know that I am guilty, and I owe you a million apologies and I do ask for your forgiveness. But Andrey, you did neglect me. Perhaps it was childish of me, but I found myself constantly wondering if you still loved me, if you cared. What I’d done wrong to make you want to flee so far and never talk to me. It’s not fair to put that all on you, I know. Perhaps I was too young and insecure to be in a relationship. I just wish you had been here.”

Andrey nods, expression thoughtful.

“I never wished to make you doubt me or my feelings for you.” He says. “Your email surprised me..but I suppose it shouldn’t have. You were right, I hadn’t called in a month, or even e-mailed. I got caught up in...the little things. I forgot to miss you.” He shakes his head. “But I did miss you. I missed you even on the plane ride back, when I knew how painful seeing you would be.”

“I’m so sorry.” Natasha says ardently. She wants to wipe any pain from Andrey’s heart, any darkness she’s caused.

“No more apologies. I forgive you. I can’t hold onto this. It won’t do either of us any good. And - for what it’s worth, I’m sorry too.”

It’s like a weight lifted off of Natasha’s chest.

“Oh, Andrey…” She reaches out and takes his hand, and is happy when he lets her. “Thank you.”

“I don’t think we should get back together, though.” He tells her seriously. She nods. She was expecting that much.

“We aren’t a perfect match, at least not as we are now, or this never would have happened.” Natasha agrees. “I need time - to figure myself out. To grow. And you need -“

“To be alone awhile as well, yes.” Andrey smiles, weak but kind. “Finding yourself can be a journey at any age. But Natasha, I do love you.”

“I love you too, Andrey. Maybe some day…”

“Maybe. But for now. There are things we need to fix before we can begin to work on us. So, friends?”

“I would like that, very much.”

It’s not a fairy tale ending, but it’s not a tragedy either. It’s just life, and Natasha is learning to see the reality of it, and accept it as it comes.

It’s enough. 

—

Sonya hates parties. Even small parties. And it’s worse now that Natasha has disappeared with Andrey, and Fedya is on the phone with Anatole. Hélène and Marya have staked out a couch and Sonya refuses to get in the middle of whatever they’re talking about. Pierre is off in the kitchen mixing drinks.

She would introduce herself to Mary, Andrey’s sister - except she’s not here. It’s her apartment, Sonya knows that much, but she hasn’t seen anyone but her friends and a few of Andrey’s college buddies milling around.

Privately, Sonya thinks Mary has the right idea.

She’s also wondering if disappearing is a Bolkonsky family trait.

Sonya is pretending to be invested in her drink when she spots something that, at last, lifts her spirits - a soft gray kitten poking its head into the room. Immediately Sonya moves towards it, grateful for the respite. A party is always better if there’s a pet around.

The kitten spooks, even though she approaches as gently as possible, turning and padding down the hall. Sonya decides the party won’t miss her and follows it, watching as it disappears into a room at the end of the hallway. She steps in through the open doorway without thinking about it, but stops suddenly when she realizes she is in a bedroom. It’s modestly decorated in blues so soft they’re nearly gray, walls largely plain except for a stunning painting of a landscape hanging over the bed. The kitten that led her here hops up onto the bed, moving straight for the occupant of the bed. 

She’s sitting, but Sonya can tell she’s tall and slender. She has dark hair she wears in a thick braid. She’s dressed simply, cleanly. Her eyes are brighter than anything Sonya’s ever seen.

She’s very lovely.

“Oh!” She says, softly, upon noticing Sonya in the doorway. “Oh, dear.” She plucks a pair of headphones from her ears and sits up a little more. Sonya watches her set aside a sketchbook. “Did Smokey lead you here? He must have known I was late for my brother’s party…”

Sonya doesn’t know why she feels so suddenly speechless. Normally she is quite good at talking to people, even strangers. And they’re not really strangers, even. Though they’ve never actually met, Sonya and Mary Bolkonsky have so many mutual acquaintances they may as well have. Still. Sonya wasn’t expecting someone so... pretty.

“Sorry, I just - the cat -“

Mary smiles. It’s shy, but sweet. “He’s a bit mischievous. He loves attention, but he also likes to be chased…” 

“I hate parties.” Sonya confesses. “But I like cats.”

Why can’t she sound like a normal human being all of a sudden?

“I can understand that.” Mary says. “Oh, um - did you want to pet him? He’s friendly.” She picks up the cat and holds him out to Sonya. 

Tentatively, Sonya approaches and holds her own hands out. Just as she’s about to make contact, the cat squirms, bursting out of Mary’s hold and launching itself at Sonya. He manages to get onto her shoulder, wrapping himself around her neck.

“Oh!” She laughs, trying to reach up and grab him, but he twists away, making a playground of her back. Mary laughs as well, and sits up to try and help Sonya wrangle the kitten. She ends up almost tangled with her, an arm reaching around her shoulder, her soft sweater brushing against Sonya’s skin. The cat leaps away, bounding off the bed and disappearing out of the door. This leaves Sonya and Mary, basically strangers, in a rather intimate half-embrace.

Sonya flushes and pulls back, startled by the quickness of her own pulse. She feels hot all over, and if the redness of Mary’s cheeks are any indication, she’s not alone. 

“I’m sorry.” Mary says finally, quickly. She speaks so quietly Sonya almost can’t understand her. “Goodness, I haven’t even introduced myself. I - I’m sorry. I don’t get out much.” Sonya has heard from Natasha that Mary does online college courses; she began them while she was still at home caring for her father, and never moved to the physical campus even when Nicholas Bolkonsky went into hospice care full time. Instead, Natasha has privately lamented to her, Mary moved into an apartment in Astoria and rarely leaves it. Natasha was always somewhat disappointed by her lack of a friendship with Andrey’s sister, but the two personalities were so clashing - Natasha such a joyous extrovert, and Mary so awkward and shy. Natasha just couldn’t make it work. Sonya, standing here now, has no idea what ever annoyed Natasha about Mary. Sure, she’s humble and shy, but her countenance is lovely and intelligent - her smile kind, eyes open and bright. She seems sweet, awkward but well-meaning. Sonya likes her, instantly.

“It’s alright.” She reassures Mary. “I - well, I know you, sort of. I’m Sonya. Natasha’s cousin?”

“Yes - of course. She’s mentioned you. We should have met sooner, I just - well, I don’t like going out much. I know it sounds…” Mary waves a hand helplessly. “Ridiculous. For one so young. That’s what everyone says, but - goodness, I’m talking too much. I don’t normally, I swear.”

“I don’t mind.” Sonya says genuinely. “Not at all. I’m glad we’ve finally met.”

Mary’s smile lights up her face. Sonya has never seen someone with such a simple, pleasant glow to them.

“Me too. I was just - sketching a bit. I really should be out there, I just hate parties, too. Why do people love parties so much?”

“I haven’t the faintest clue.” Sonya says.

“Well, perhaps we can...avoid it just a little longer? If you’d like, you could sit…?” Mary gestures to the end of the bed, and Sonya nods, taking a seat there. Mary sits pressed up against the headboard. Sonya can’t help but wish they were sitting a little closer. She’s worried she’s getting way too ahead of herself - this is Andrey’s little sister, the one notorious for not only being a shut-in but for her ardent devotion to her religion. Surely she’d never be interested in Sonya.

“Andrey and Natasha are talking. Who knows if there will even be a party to come back to.” Sonya tells her. “Listen, I’m sorry about all of that -”

“No, please don’t apologize. It wasn’t your fault. And it’s true my brother was - neglectful, of Natasha. It wouldn’t be the first time he pushed someone away like that. Andrey gets scared of his own love, sometimes.” Mary sighs.

“Is it really so terrifying? Being in love?”

“I wouldn’t know.” Mary confesses. She makes brief eye contact with Sonya, and blushes even harder. “I’ve never even had a girlfriend.”

“A girl -?”

“I know.” Mary says quickly. “Most people assume...well, that I could never be gay, because of -” She touches the small cross around her throat, hanging on a delicate golden chain. “Well. But I don’t believe it was ever God’s intention to condemn anyone for who they fall in love with. I don’t believe it’s a sin at all. There are many interpretations of the Word, of course, but - I cannot fathom that my God, a loving God who made us all, would ever hate any of his creations. And, after all, I am a product of Him - who are we to say He made me incorrectly?”

Sonya finds herself leaning forward to listen to Mary speak, her quiet passion drawing Sonya in. She speaks with great articulation and care, as if she’s thought about every word. As if she means it.

“That’s lovely, Mary.” She says, softly. Mary looks up and meets her eyes, and it’s - it’s devastating. She’s attracted to Mary, there’s no denying that, but now Sonya can see the potential for so much more. Not just potential, an understanding: that Sonya is utterly, utterly screwed.

“Thank you.” Mary reaches out, placing a hand on top of Sonya’s where it rests on her comforter. She may as well have delivered an electric shock to Sonya’s arm.

“I’m gay too.” Sonya blurts, unable to stop herself. Mary looks a little surprised, but there’s a pleased quirk to her mouth.

“Oh, that’s nice.” She says, still blushing. She doesn’t move her hand.

“Mary. You know. That quote from Pride and Prejudice?” Sonya finds herself speaking, suddenly, all in a rush and unable to stop. “That one about ‘the pleasure a pair of fine eyes in the face of a pretty woman can bestow’? I never really understood it. It seemed ridiculous. I mean, they’re just eyes, right? It’s just a face? How can eyes be that big of a deal - but. Actually. I think I kind of understand it, now.”

Mary blinks at her, as if not comprehending. Her cheeks are the prettiest shade of pink, lips parted just slightly. 

“I’m talking about _your_ eyes.” Sonya clarifies.

Mary blinks again, a pause, and then -

“Oh!” She smiles, bright and pleased, those eyes that Sonya so admires shining. “You really...?”

“I really.” Sonya laughs. “You’re very beautiful.”

“You’re being kind. No one has ever said I was beautiful.” Mary looks down. She doesn’t seem to know how to respond to this amount of positive attention, which just makes Sonya want to shower her with more compliments.

“Then they weren’t paying attention.” Sonya tells her. She feels Mary’s hand over hers. She tries to remain still, not wanting Mary to move it. She likes this contact, the softness of her skin - it’s new, and thrilling, and warm all at once.

“You’re so sweet.” Mary says, so quiet. Sonya has to lean in slightly to hear her.

“I’m honest.” Sonya insists. Mary looks up, and their faces are rather closer together than Sonya expected. She is filled with the sudden, if not unexpected, urge to kiss her. They barely know each other, but there’s a connection between them, and Sonya - she wants this. 

“Can I kiss you?” She asks. She’s not sure where this boldness is coming from, but god, she’s been waiting for something like this to happen to her and she doesn’t want to let this moment just slip by. She wants to have something fun, and beautiful, and exciting happen to her. She wants to kiss a pretty girl. She wants to kiss this pretty girl, especially. “I know it’s weird. We just met, and it’s - I’m probably making you uncomfortable. I’m sorry. I just...thought I’d ask.”

Mary shakes her head quickly. “No, it’s - okay. I’d like that. You can.”

“Are you -?”

“I’m sure.” Mary smiles. She scoots closer to Sonya. “Please. Kiss me.”

Well, Sonya can’t say no to that.

This isn’t her first kiss (that was her cousin Nikolai when they were very small, it was weird, she doesn’t like to talk about it and anyway they’re both gay now) but it is her first kiss with another woman. That seems important. She’s not sure how to make it...perfect, like she wants it to be, so she just - leans in and presses her mouth to Mary’s. Simple, light. Gentle. She lets her fingers intertwine with Mary’s as she holds the kiss, as Mary leans into it and kisses her back.

It’s so sweet and easy. It feels like all worries and fears have slipped from Sonya’s mind, and she is existing simply in this moment. It’s a good kiss - not too light, or stiff and awkward, but not too desperate and messy either. 

She’s just about to pull away to catch a breath when she hears laughter erupt from the doorway. Both girls on the bed startle, pulling back from each other and swinging their heads towards the door, eyes wide. Sonya wants to melt into the floor. 

It’s Hélène. Of course it’s Hélène.

“So, you see why locking doors doesn’t seem all that important in the moment, huh?” She says through laughter, leaning against the door frame.

“Jesus, Hélène.”

“Hey, you’re the one caught with your hand in the honey pot this time, darling.” Hélène grins at her, and Sonya cannot make eye contact with Mary, she’s so mortified. “Listen, I was just coming to get you because Andrey and Natasha are back, and Pierre wants to start the toast to Andrey’s coming home? If you’re not too busy.” She winks.

“We’ll be right there.” Sonya says, willing Hélène not to make this too painful.

“I could always make up some excuse if you’d like a little longer?” Hélène suggests, and Sonya levels her with a glare. “Oh no, really, don’t be mad Sonya. This is too cute, you can’t blame me.”

Sonya sighs. She chances a look at Mary, who is bright red and holding herself very still. God, she hopes this hasn’t fucked up any chance Sonya had with her.

“Can you give us five minutes, Hélène, then we’ll join you for the toast?”

“Of course, darling.” Hélène gives a little playful bow and sweeps out of the room. Sonya can hear her laughter echo in the hallway.

“I’m sorry about her.” She says immediately to Mary. “She means well. She’s just - well, Hélène. Plus we have sort of a - joke? You wouldn’t believe the amount of times I’ve walked in on her and Marya, it’s atrocious.”

“That’s Hélène Kuragina? My brother used to complain about her all the time.” Mary says. She flashes a small smile at Sonya. It makes her heart leap just a little. “She doesn’t seem so bad. It’s true we left the door open, I suppose it was...amusing. Still, I wish - well it really was a very nice kiss. I wish we weren’t interrupted.”

Sonya beams.

“You liked it?” She finds herself asking, half-breathless.

Mary nods. “Of course.”

“I’d suggest we try it again, but if we linger too long it’ll be Marya who comes looking for us, and I don’t think either of us want that.”

“Another time, then?” Mary’s tone is sweet.

“Are you free tomorrow?”

Mary laughs, soft and high, like a bell. “Yes. Tomorrow is perfect.”

Sonya can’t help but grin, the expression nearly bursting out of her. She leans forward in order to steal one last little kiss when she hears Hélène’s voice, unusually loud, in the hallway.

“Oh, Marya darling, yes they’re right behind me - I assure you - absolutely on their way, never you fear, no one’s forgotten their manners! Can’t start without one of the hosts anyway, can we…”

And her voice trails off, as though she’s leading Marya back to the living room.

“Guess that’s our cue.” Sonya says. She can’t stop smiling at Mary, and Mary’s smiling back, and it’s nothing she expected but everything she wanted.

—

It’s hours after that first toast, Pierre’s joyous welcome home of his best friend, a speech full of laughter and raised glasses. The party is starting to wind down, and Marya feels sleepy from Pierre’s heavy-handed pouring of drinks. If it’s any indication, Hélène is feeling the same way, currently tucked against Marya on the couch with her head on Marya’s shoulder. It’s been a surprisingly good day. Natasha is smiling again, in that open-hearted way, freed from a yoke of guilt. She’s even sitting between Andrey and Pierre on the couch opposite them, all three engaged in pleasant conversation. Sonya and Mary have been together by the window nearly all evening, talking in quiet tones with their heads bent close together. Hélène bursts into laughter every time she tries to explain what happened to Marya, but Marya gets the gist of it. She’s happy for Sonya, if not entirely sure why her goddaughters keep falling for Bolkonskys. Mary seems like a nice girl, though, however quiet and demure. 

Marya turns to press a kiss to the top of Hélène’s head. “Do you think we should head out soon?” She asks softly. Hélène looks up at her.

“No, I wouldn’t want to pull Sonya away from Mary right now. Isn’t it adorable?” Hélène looks over at Sonya, and Marya is touched by the fond expression on her face. It’s easy to see that Hélène’s heart is full of love then - it’s always been, in the way she looked at her brothers, but it’s interesting to see that expression of familial love directed towards Marya’s family. Not interesting, that’s not the right word. It’s - achingly lovely. It shakes Marya to her core in the best way possible. It’s here, she knows, that Hélène is now her family too. That she wants Hélène to be her family, always.

That she couldn’t live without her anymore.

“It’s wonderful.” Marya agrees, a soft smile on her lips, focused on Hélène. When Hélène turns back to meet her eyes, there’s such a sweetness there that Marya can’t help but lean down and kiss her. She feels Hélène’s hand move to her shoulder, readjusting her position on the couch so she can kiss back. She tastes like bourbon and honey, and the scent of cinnamon fills Marya’s nose.

A throat clears audibly, and they break apart, grinning at each other.

“We’re not sorry.” Hélène says, loudly.

“Oh, we know.” Pierre pipes back. Marya laughs.

“Hélène.” She says, slowly, getting her girlfriend’s attention. “Hélène Kuragina.”

“Why are you saying my name like that?” Hélène asks, brow slightly raised, questioning.

“What do you think of Akhrosimova? Do you prefer Kuragina?”

“Are we comparing last names? I think yours is prettier, but -”

“So would you take it?”

“Pardon?”

“My last name. Will you take it?”

“I’m sorry - I’m still not understanding you.”

“I suppose I’ll have to be direct. I’d like to marry you, if you don’t mind, and I was wondering whether you’d like to take my last name or keep yours - I suppose I could take yours, as well -”

“Very funny, my dear.” Hélène shakes her head, and moves to curl back into Marya’s side, but Marya stops her with a hand on her shoulder.

“You think I’m joking?”

“Well, yeah. Goodness, Marya, why should you want to be shackled to me forever?” Hélène cracks a little smile, self-deprecating in its humor. “Also, we’re both kind of drunk and in the middle of someone else’s party -”

“Yes, which is why I feel quite terrible about this breach of etiquette but if you insist on not believing me, there is nothing I can do but prove it to you.” Marya says, pulling away so she can stand up. She is resolute, the set of her shoulders determined and eyes fiery with focus. She wants this woman, she wants her and she wants her to understand how loved she is - how wonderful she is. Marya is unstoppable when she is a\on a mission, and she knows it. Hélène’s expression is apprehensive, confused.

“Marya -?”

“Hush.” Marya scolds gently. She picks up her skirts carefully, so she can lower herself down onto one knee without tripping all over them. She feels the moment when the entire room is silenced, everyone’s attention drawn to Marya and Hélène at the center. She ignores this, and reaches up for Hélène’s hand. Even confused, Hélène instantly offers her palm to Marya. Marya can feel her pulse beat through her fingertips.

“Hélène.” Marya says, serious but full of affection. “As usual, you have driven me to the depths of improper conduct, but I would expect nothing less of the passion you inspire in me every day. I simply cannot put this off. I can’t wait a moment longer, and I need you to understand - exactly what you mean to me, and how serious I am about this. I want to be your wife -” At this, she hears a little gasp, she thinks it’s Natasha’s but she doesn’t break eye contact with Hélène. Her brown eyes are wide as saucers, shining with emotion. “I want to marry you. I don’t care if it’s a week, or a year, or whenever you’re ready but you have to know - I mean this. I mean it with all my heart. I love you, and I’ve loved you for more than a year now, and so what if our courtship has been insanely unconventional and a bit out of order? We’ll never be traditional and we’ll never be normal, and that’s the way I like it. So.” Marya takes a deep breath, finally feeling a prickle of nerves creep through her fiery determination. “Will you marry me?”

It’s like all the air has been sucked out of the room, waiting for Hélène to answer. It’s like she’s turned to brittle porcelain, and in one wrong move she’ll shatter into a million pieces. It’s like staring down the crest of a wave about to drown her.

And then Hélène tugs sharply on her hand, messily pulling Marya up to a standing position. “Stop that, you’ll wrinkle your dress and I want our proposal photos to be cute.” She says, the brightest smile Marya’s ever seen forming on her lips. Marya barely has time to register the implicit yes in her statement before Hélène is hauling her in for a kiss, messy and passionate and probably a bit filthier than is really necessary. She hears sounds of celebration in the background, their friends clapping and whistling.

She shamelessly grabs Hélène’s ass and pulls her even closer.

When they part they’re breathless, smiling almost deliriously, and Marya can see her lipstick is smeared all over Hélène’s mouth and part of her cheek.

“So much for nice proposal photos, Hélène.” She murmurs. “By the way, is that a -”

“Yes, my dragon, it’s a yes.” Hélène laughs. The joy in her eyes is almost too much for Marya’s heart to handle. “And yes, I’ll take your last name.”

“Well, good, that’s - good -” Marya laughs as well, nearly dizzy with feelings. Suddenly, there are arms around them both - her goddaughters have both launched themselves at the couple, hugging and laughing.

“Oh my god!” Natasha is saying near Marya’s ear. “Oh my god! I’m so happy!”

“Does this make Hélène our step godmother?” Sonya asks once they’re done with the massive group hug, smiling, a bit sly.

“I prefer goddad. Godpop? Whatever, I’m no mom and definitely no evil stepmother.” Hélène waves a hand, but she’s grinning. Natasha throws her arms around Hélène’s waist, beaming. Hélène pets Natasha’s hair. Marya thinks this is all she will ever need, her girls all together.

She feels a hand on her shoulder and turns to see Pierre. His expression is warm, cheerful, kind. “I’m so happy I was here for this, Masha.” He says, drawing her into a hug. She hugs back firmly, happy to be supported by her oldest friend. 

“I’m sorry I interrupted your party, Andrey.” Marya says when she pulls back from the hug, spotting Andrey at Pierre’s shoulder. The man just grins.

“This is the most exciting thing that’s ever happened at a party of mine, I can’t complain.” He says. “Congratulations, you two.”

Hélène flashes a mischievous little smirk. “You’re much happier than you were when Pierre and I got engaged, Andrey, why -”

“No, nope, no.” Marya says quickly, taking Hélène’s arm. “Come on, Fedya’s waiting to congratulate you.” She steers Hélène - her fiance - over to Dolokhov, who’s beaming at his best friend. When they reach him, he grabs Hélène by the waist and picks her up, twirling her around wildly. 

“Ah, Hélène, I could not be happier for you.” He says as he lowers her down. His eyes are twinkling with merriment, and Hélène’s laughter is musical. Marya supposes, in a way, Dolokhov - Fedya - is her family now, too. He flashes his bright grin at her. “Thank you, Marya. You’ve made Hélène so happy.” He reaches out, grasping one of her hands in his. She’s a little surprised by the sincerity of his words. “You are what I’ve always wanted for her.”

“Oh, I -” For once, Marya is at a loss for words. Hélène swoops in to rescue her, smiling and clutching her arm, fond expression on Dolokhov. 

“Stop giving her the brother speech, you’ll embarrass her.” Hélène scolds lightly. “She’s already poured her heart out this evening and I think that’s probably enough talking about feelings in public for my girl.”

Dolokhov shrugs. “As you wish. By the way -” He holds up his phone, waving it with a little smirk. “I got the whole thing on video.”

Hélène practically squeals. “Oh, thank god! Anatole was going to be in such a fuss that he missed it - and I definitely want to see it again - isn’t that wonderful, Marya?”

“By the whole thing, you mean -”

“I started filming when you were kissing on the couch. Figured it might help your PDA if you saw evidence of how ridiculous you two get. Just ended up with a bonus proposal.” Dolokhov winks. Marya is not blushing, she’s not, but her cheeks feel slightly hot.

“Champagne! To celebrate!” A voice calls from the kitchen, and they turn to see Pierre entering the room with a bottle. Mary is behind him with a tray full of glasses. Sonya is immediately at her side, helping her balance it.

The first glasses are passed to Hélène and Marya, and Hélène turns to her with glass full and smile sweet. “Marusya.” She says, her voice soft enough that it goes unheard over the cacophony of glasses and pouring and chatter. She slips a hand into Marya’s.

“I can’t wait to be your wife.” She tells Marya; Marya’s heart swells again. She thought, once, that there was a limit to this love - that someday she would find the margin where it could grow no longer and she’d be left with this steady, deep love radiating with her. Instead, every little thing Hélène does seems to cause this thing between them to grow, and her heart with it. She has an endless capacity for loving this woman. “I have never been happier than now. I never dreamed I could be this happy. I love you.”

“I love you too, Elena.”

A year ago, Marya could not have imagined her life like this. But now, it feels as though this was always meant to be. From their first meeting - back when Hélène was still Pierre’s girlfriend, and despite that wentout of her way to flirt with Marya in an extremely heavy-handed manner - to moving in together, to their first drunken kiss, to painful and uplifting confessions of the heart, to now - they have always been barreling along this track together. There was never any other way to go, nor anyone else for her. She knows this with clarity. She knows what love is.

Marya takes Hélène’s hand up, kisses the knuckles. She can’t wait to see a ring on her finger. A bright diamond framed with pearls, or small emeralds. Something beautiful enough to deserve her.

Something beautiful enough to represent them.

Hélène smiles up at her, and she feels absolutely and perfectly complete.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that's it! This fic ended up being about 120 pages total, and it became quite a more involved endeavor than I was ever expecting. It's been a project of love for me, and I'm so grateful to everyone who's read it and supported me throughout it. I hope this chapter made you all very happy. Thanks for sticking by me. <3 Epilogue possibly pending - I have very clear ideas as to where each of these characters ends up, it's just up to whether I can put it all together in story format. So much love everyone & don't worry - there's always more Marya/Helene to come!


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